


Contradictory

by JDominique37



Series: The Storm, the Stars, and the Skies (Kuroko no Basuke Stories) [7]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 45,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDominique37/pseuds/JDominique37
Summary: We are a paradox waiting to be solved. Different energies and different paths — why won't you leave me alone? I dream of your eyes every night; you see everything about me. Yet my own vision is blind, and I stumble, unable to reach you. You smile, a light against the dark, and hold out your hand. If I take it, will we be able to avoid such a contradictory love? Kise/OC Kasamatsu/OC





	1. Chapter 1: Susumu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm really happy you decided to clink on this and give it a try. This is a Kise/OC with Kasamatsu/OC parallel story. It's told in two alternating POVs (the OCs' POVs, not Kise and Kasamatsu's). Hopefully it won't be too confusing.
> 
> Obviously, I do not own Kuroko no Basuke. Just the OCs and the story. I hope you enjoy the story! Thanks once again for reading.

  _Part 1_

* * *

_Chapter_ _1: Susumu_

* * *

Of course, it had to be today that I spill juice on my pants, spend fifteen minutes looking for my sister’s sweater, miss the train by three seconds after sprinting all the way there . . . and then realize I’ve forgotten my purse back at home.

Growling softly, I push through the hordes of crowds moving through the city streets, berating myself for being so airheaded this morning. I should’ve woken up sooner in anticipation of this happening. The way things are going, I’m going to completely miss my interview.

I turn a corner sharply, huffing at the thought — but someone was also moving at the same rapid speed I was, and the two of us collide into each other. There’s the brief feeling of their sturdy body against mine, and then I feel myself falling backwards. My heart lurches and an image of the concrete pops into my mind — as well as a ticking clock.  

“Whoa there!”

I flail, my arms pinwheeling, but before my elbows connect to the ground, the person reaches out and grasps my hands, and pulls me up straight. I glance up, about to thank whoever I’d run into, and I see that it’s a boy about my age.

A very cute boy.

My mouth falls open. I attempt to push away my thoughts and take a step back, allowing his hand to fall from mine. I say, “A-ah, thank you very much. And I’m sorry. I’m just in a hurry, you know? And I don’t really know where I’m going. For all I know, this could be the entirely wrong direction.” I let out a strangled laugh, and run my fingers through my hair.

He seems a bit irritated, but before he can leave, I reach into my pocket and thrust a slip of paper toward him. “This is the address of the place I’m going to,” I blurt out. “Do you — do you think you could point me in the right direction really quick?”

He blinks, and I notice his eyes, a pure golden color, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Looking taken aback by my abruptness, he glances down at the hastily written words. After a moment, he lets out a laugh. A laugh? What, do I have funny handwriting or something? I stare at him and am about to ask what’s so amusing, when he says, “Well, this makes things infinitely easier.”

“Huh?”

He smiles at me, and I gulp. That smile isn’t a thing to be trifled with — it changes him from being cute to stunning. As people shift around us, each going to their own individual business, some moving as fast as I was, he slings an arm around me, and shifts me around so we’re facing the direction he’d been walking — in other words, I’d been going the complete opposite direction.

“The place you’re headed,” he explains. “It just so happens I’m going there as well.”

“Whoa, really? Do you have an interview, too?”

He looks at me funny. I’m starkly aware of his arm around me. Why’s he suddenly being so friendly? I try to concentrate on the buzz of people around me, some on their phones arguing with who-knows-who, some holding their children’s hands so they don’t get lost, some walking through the crowd in a leisurely manner, like they don’t quite know what they’re doing or why they’re here.

“You have an interview?” he says. “So that’s why you were in such a rush.”

I nod and shift, hoping that he’ll get the hint and move his arm. He doesn’t. Maybe he enjoys making me uncomfortable.

“Why are you going there?” I ask.

“I already work there,” he explains, and he finally drops his arm from my shoulders. Then looks at me expectantly.

For a few moments, we just stare at each other.

I take in his blond hair, his eyes with the perfect long eyelashes, and the silver earring in his left ear. Together with his clothes, it creates an image that . . .

Wait. Do I know this person?

We start walking once again, an air of disappointment surrounding him (I get the feeling I was supposed to respond with something other than just awkward staring), and he pushes through most of the people for me. I catch a few girls staring at him, and it finally hits me.

“You’re a model,” I blurt out.

He brightens considerably. “Yeah. And you? What are you applying for?”

“Mmmm.” I twirl a piece of hair between my fingers. “Definitely not modeling. It’s like an internship. I get to shadow one of the photographers there.”

“So you like taking pictures of people?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not really. I was just curious.”

“To answer your question, I do like taking pictures of people. But that’s not . . . exactly it. To be more specific, I guess you could say I like seeing people shine. I like to see their talents, how they react when put into the spotlight. I like to see them when they understand that everyone else in the world can see them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s quite an explanation.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” I defend myself.

He lets out a small laugh. “Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” He smiles, then he stops before a large building, and waves his arm before it. “Here we are. What do you think?”

I stare up at the huge construction, glass windows glittering in the sunlight, and gulp. I wish I had time to check myself in a bathroom; no doubt my brown hair is a mess, windblown and tangled. “Let’s do this.”

“Nope, you’ve got it wrong.”

“Huh?”

“ _You_ _’re_ doing this. And I’m sure you’re going to nail it.”

I gaze at him for a few moments, a random stranger I met on the city streets who is now suddenly giving me support, and I smile. “You’re right. But you’re not completely helpless in this either. I still don’t know where the room I’m going to is. And besides, you can provide emotional back-up.”

He sighs, almost like he’d expected this. “Riiiiight. It’s not like _I_ have a job to get to or anything.”

* * *

“And here we are.” The boy opens the door for me, and I nod in thanks before entering.

At first, it appears dark and empty. I trip over a cardboard box and papers scatter across the floor. I wince and attempt to gather them back up as the boy finds the light switch and flips it on.

“H-hello?” I venture through the room, which is littered with all sorts of things, ranging from assorted documents to cameras to wild props and costumes. “Is anyone here?”

Half of the room is sectioned off with a curtain, and at my voice, it shifts, and a person emerges. I almost jump at the sight of him. He has messy, shoulder-length hair, glasses that are almost falling off his nose, and his clothes look a bit ragged. This . . . is the person I’m supposed to shadow?

“Hey there,” he says. He blinks a few times, like he’s not used to the light, then spots the boy standing behind me. “Kise-kun? What are you doing here?”

“I led, um . . .”

“Nakahara,” I supply. “Nakahara Susumu.”

“I led Nakahara-san here. She’d gotten lost.”

“Oh. I see.”

Right! I bend into a bow. “I am very sorry for being late. It was not my intention and I should’ve put more effort into being on time.”

“. . . you were late? For what?”

The boy — Kise (haven’t I heard that name before?) — and I stare at the man. He looks owlishly back at us. I say, “My name is Nakahara Susumu. I made an appointment for an interview to shadow a photographer here.”

“Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. You can have it.”

“W-what, really?”

“Yeah. You get along with Kise-kun.”

“Huh?”

I glance at Kise, and he shrugs back at me. I can sense him repressing a snigger. It seems he’s dealt with this man before.

“Uh . . . sir . . . thanks, I guess? So, um, when will I be starting? And what will I be doing?”

“The name’s Abe. Abe Ryuushi. I’m not really picky about when you come in. Say, where do you go to school? You’re a high schooler, yeah?”

“Y-yes. I’m a second-year. I attend Kaijou High, Abe-san.”

“Kaijou?” Kise perks up. “That’s where I’m going!”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah,” he says eagerly. “I’m going to be a first-year. So, that’d make you Nakahara-senpai, then? Haha.”

“That’s great, then.” Abe-san nods, and combs a hand through his tangled hair. “If it works, you can just come when Kise-kun comes. If you want to schedule other times, I’m fine with that, too. Kise-kun, you usually come after school, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Depending on basketball, I’ll probably be coming once or twice a week.”

“That’s right. You get pretty involved with your club.”

Abe folds his arms across his chest, looking satisfied. He’s barely looked at me during this whole conversation yet seems perfectly fine with letting me work for him. Just how relaxed is he?

Kise turns to me and grins. “Well, isn’t that great, Nakahara-senpai? You got the internship!”

“Yeah . . . I guess.”

Honestly, I can’t tell if I’m feeling _over_ whelmed or _under_ whelmed. It’s a toss-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, I would like to say that I have absolutely no idea how a modeling agency works in America, much less Japan. So I basically just wrote a bunch of junk in those parts. Please excuse my ignorance.
> 
> Kise is my most favoritefavoritefavoritefavorite character in the series. He's just so CUTE. And his character is so interesting, too. And he's SO FUN TO WRITE. Because he's my favorite, I really wanted to perfect his story, so this story is actually my third Kise/OC draft. Of course, this story's not perfect (as no story is), but it's as close as I'm going to get, and I'm pretty happy with it. (Also, I added in the Kasamatsu/OC, which was fun, since Knee-socks Senpai is pretty cute, too.)
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	2. Chapter 2: Eirin

“So what did you want me to do again?”

Kasamatsu shifts uncomfortably under my stare, and spins my desk chair in little circles to avoid looking at me. “Well, if you could, just come visit practice tomorrow, and give me your opinion of the team. We’re having a practice game with Seirin High School, so it would be a good opportunity to observe.”

“But I thought you said you’re only playing on half the court.” Stretching out on the floor of my room, I dig my hand into a bag of chips and munch on a few. I offer him some, but he just gives me a look. More for me, then.

“That’s right. But the rest will be doing drills, freshman mostly.”

“So the regulars are playing Seirin?”

He nods. “Will you do it, then?”

I stretch out my limbs, extending the bag of chips in my hand and accidentally spilling out crumbs. “Eh, I don’t really see how my opinion will make much of a difference. I haven’t even played basketball in years.”

Kasamatsu frowns and his hands twist together. “Eirin, don’t speak like that. I just want to hear your thoughts. Whether they’re valid or not doesn’t really matter.”

“Wow, that makes me feel a lot better.”

He sighs and raises his hands in defeat.

“What about my own club?” I ask him, even though he and I both know the answer to the question.

“Don’t you usually skip it anyway?”

“Um.”

Frankly, I would’ve chosen to become part of the go-home club, but Mom insisted I participate in some “school activities.” Sports clubs were out for obvious reasons, so I chose the history club. Low-maintenance, most of the time they just spend the hours arguing over which general of which era was better. They’ve never asked anything out of me because most of the time I disappear and simply wander the grounds until I’m expected home.

Being straight-laced as he is, Kasamatsu’s clearly bothered by my cutting, but it also seems like he’ll use it to his advantage when needed. (Can a captain get away with that?)

Drawing lines against the plush rug, I say, “Fine. I’ll do it. I guess it would be interesting to see you as captain.” I grin when he blushes. Kasamatsu has always been easily embarrassed, and I’ve always loved teasing him. I must say, it’s quite a feat that he can even talk to me, being the girl that I am. I suppose the fact that we grew up together was enough to thaw his fear of the other gender when it concerns me.

“Who are you considering for the Inter-High team right now?” I ask him, reaching for another chip. Mom probably wouldn’t appreciate me eating in my room, but seeing as she hasn’t even graced this place with her presence in a while, I fail to see how it really matters.

He wrinkles his brow and starts rattling off team members. Hayakawa, Moriyama, Kobori. I’m fairly familiar with the names, having heard Kasamatsu talk (complain) about them before. Respectively, they’d play power forward, shooting guard, and center. Kasamatsu, the captain, is the point guard. Which just leaves the small forward, the position that usually has the most flexibility.

“It’s Kise, right?” I say.

He makes a funny expression that screws up his features and I cock my head.

 “Well, of course.” He sounds almost angry about it. “He’s a Generation of Miracles, so of course he has to be on the team somehow. And I can’t deny his talent and potential.”

“So why are you hesitating?”

“He’s . . . arrogant. A flashy sort of idiot.”

“Does he not work well with the team?”

“It’s not exactly that. . . . I mean, he’s friendly enough. Annoying, even. He doesn’t prioritize teamwork, though, and that’s definitely a problem. And furthermore, he has no respect.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Anyway, Yukio-chan, since you’re his captain, I’m sure things’ll work out. After all, if anyone can beat respect and sensitivity into him, it’s you. Literally.”

Kasamatsu shoots me a glare. “Don’t call me that. And since when have you been so positive?”

“Eh? I’ve always been this way.”

“Don’t kid with me. How’s school been going for you anyway?”

“Fine.”

“Fine? How are the students in your class? Are they bothering you at all? You know, you don’t have to . . .” He drifts off.

I sit up, crumpling the now-empty bag of chips and tossing it into the trash.  It misses, and floats down to the floor two feet away from the trash can. “What? I don’t have to what?”

He glances at me carefully. “I mean, you’ve changed a bit,” he says. “But you don’t have to try so hard to . . . to . . .”

I look down at my clothes. Dark and plain — an outfit that tries not to highlight my black hair and blue eyes like Mom always tried to do. She always preferred the frilly dresses, high heels, expensive things. Needless to say, she hates my current style.

“I just don’t want them thinking I’m some rich kid,” I say. I finger the material of my shirt. If one looks close enough, they’d still be able to tell it’s of fine make despite its casual design, but so far no one’s paid that much attention to me.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks.

“If they know you have money, that’s all they think about.” My fists clench together. “That’s all they think about, and that’s all they care about.”

His eyes cloud for a moment, but eventually he nods. “Okay.” Then, a suspiciously thoughtful look comes over his face.

“What are you thinking?” I demand.

“It’s just that . . . you’re a first-year like Kise, aren’t you . . . hm.”

“What’s with that tone of voice?” I lean toward him and stare him in the eyes. A low squeak escapes from him (even I can still catch him off-guard sometimes).

“I was just thinking that if you and Kise were in the same class, you could help me with making him into a more suitable player.”

“That hardly sounds enjoyable. And for the record, I am _very_ glad I am not in a class with Kise Ryouta. I could hardly stand to be in the same room with some idiot model.”

Kasamatsu sighs. “And there you have it.”

“I’m just saying! I can’t stand people who think they own the world. And from what I’ve heard, Kise’s exactly like that. Isn’t he? You yourself said he was arrogant.”

“Well . . . just come and see for yourself tomorrow.”

“Fine. I will.”

“Make sure you address me correctly tomorrow. Childhood friends or not, I’m still your senpai, remember?”

“Yes, yes, Yukio-chan- _senpai_.”

* * *

The next day, I wonder why I’ve signed up to go observe a basketball practice game. Regardless, I did make a promise to, so after classes (with barely a thought for history club), I make my way to the gym. Kaijou has a very nice set of club facilities, I have to admit, and when I enter the gym, the place seems to almost shine. I breathe in the smell of sweat, let the thump-thump of the balls fall into rhythm with my heart, and for a moment, close my eyes and just soak it all in. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a court.

“Ichikawa-san!”

I open my eyes and see Kasamatsu waving at me. It’s odd to hear him call me that, but since it’s Kasamatsu, I would expect nothing less. He’d hate to be embarrassed in front of his kouhai (although, with those knee-high black socks, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get teased more). I wave back, and he points me toward the bleachers. I nod, and shifting my bag up my shoulder, I move to the seats. There’s another girl there, too, but I don’t recognize her. She glances at me, smiles, but doesn’t say a word, and returns to watching the players, her gaze intent and intrigued by what she’s seeing. I almost smile. I’ve gone to several of the basketball games, before I was enrolled in Kaijou and when Kasamatsu was only the point guard and not the captain, and the team certainly has a way of captivating its audience.

With Kise Ryouta, a Generation of Miracles, a player thought to exceed most everyone his age and perhaps even those above him, just how will Kaijou’s presence change? How much more will the Blue Elites shine?

Like expected, the court is split, with most of the team running drills on one side. Kasamatsu and some of the other regulars are in their uniforms already — blue, white, and black — waiting for Seirin to arrive. The coach, Takeuchi, stands near them, giving them some last-minute advice.

I begin to identify the players on the side of the court that will be used for the practice match. Half are listening to their coach politely (Kasamatsu, Kobori, and Nakamura) and the rest are mainly goofing off while doing their stretches (Moriyama and Hayakawa). 

And then there’s Kise . . . it’s easy to spot him with his blond head. And simply the way he holds himself, all confidence, makes him stand out from the others. Almost as if he can feel my eyes on him, his head turns my way. I think he’s looking at me, and I duck my head down, but then I realize he’s waving at the girl who’s sitting a few yards down. She raises her hand eagerly. I wonder if she’s his girlfriend.

Kise leaves the gym then (he seems to chose the exact moment that Kasamatsu is occupied with Hayakawa, which I find rather sneaky of him), and a few moments later, he returns with what must be the Seirin team — their jersey colors are similar to ours, though with red replacing the blue. Kise is chattering to a short blue-haired boy about something, his arms swinging about animatedly. It’s almost like he’s gotten brighter after meeting the other players, their presence alighting in him a new fire. He didn’t act this way at all with his own team. My eyes narrow and my knee bounces up and down, an itching feeling crawling up it.

I don’t know much about Seirin, other than they’re a new school. Kasamatsu told me that their team is only in its second year. They don’t stand a chance against Kaijou. But as I watch them, I see a red-haired player who stands tall, and walks with a similar aura as Kise. Frowning, I glance at the others, noting the rest of the team. They’re not solid, with the way most of them fidget and glance anxiously around like they’ve never even seen a basketball court before, but they’re . . . different.

And the blue-haired boy that Kise was talking to concerns me. Anyone that Kise would take an interest in is bound to cause problems. There’s something strange going on with him, too. I keep losing him in the Seirin players, even though they aren’t a large team.

There’s a small scuffle with Seirin about playing on half the court, and I snort when the red-headed player breaks the old hoop. Serves that Kaijou coach right (even I could tell that hoop was about to fall off its hinges and I’m sitting way over in the bleachers). Several tense minutes later, and the full court has been opened. The first-years who have been forced to cease their practicing are watching Seirin with open curiosity and a few other people have leaked into the gym to watch as well. Mostly girls. Most definitely Kise’s fault.

Kise himself is now playing, looking excited as he pulls on his jersey. I wonder what he sees in Seirin. What am I kidding? If it wasn’t for Kasamatsu, I might be rooting for Seirin as well. They’re an interesting team.

The whistle blows.

Kise tries to dunk. Well, I mean, he does dunk. He just doesn’t break the hoop like the red player did. The power level was just as high — if not higher — but since the basket is newer, its screws aren’t so loose or rusted. He earns a kick from Kasamatsu for his effort. I snort so loud the girl near me glances over.

The game continues at a fierce pace, and despite myself, I find myself drawn into it. The players’ emotions seem to seep into the air, the tension rising and rising as each quarter ends and the next one begins. Before I know it, the first-year duo of Seirin — Kagami and Kuroko being their names, apparently — have made their final moves against Kise.

And Seirin High wins with a buzzer beater.

What a rush. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to play basketball.

I glance down at my leg, and rub where the old scar is hidden underneath my skirt. Perhaps it’s a good thing.

The girls who were watching Kise mourn Kaijou’s loss. Some of them comment about him crying. The girl sitting beside me watches, a near blank expression on her face. I second-guess the idea that she really is his girlfriend. I don’t think he’d date someone who’d just watch like that. He’d probably want some airhead who’d rush on the court to comfort him and wipe away his tears.

But . . . I can’t say I blame him for crying.

It’s stupid, yeah. He’s never lost a game before? Yeah, he deserved that kick from Kasamatsu for saying such a stupid thing. But still. Losing a game that you’ve put your heart and all your effort into . . . that’s no small thing. And sometimes, even something as trivial-sounding as a basketball game deserves some tears.

But Kasamatsu was right, after all. His style of play bothers me.

After Seirin has left and clearly incensed with his loss, Coach makes those who weren’t participating in the game stay late for extra drills. There’s a collective moan. Kasamatsu gives them a few sympathetic words, but it’s clear that he’s the one most who’s most disappointed. He approaches me and sits down. As the sound of bouncing balls start up again, he digs his knuckles into his forehead, and groans. I hand him a water I’d procured earlier, and he accepts it gratefully.

“So? What do you think?” he asks, after gulping down several long sips. He tries for an upbeat persona, not mentioning the loss at all.

“Your bases are good,” I say after a few moments. “Most of the team seems to work well together. But I don’t like him.”

“Who?”

I jerk my shoulder toward Kise, who’s laughing at something Hayakawa said (or tried to say, more likely). He steals the ball from Hayakawa and then effortlessly leaps into a smooth dunk, the ball appearing so comfortable in his hands.

“Kise?” Kasamatsu looks confused. “What do you think is wrong with him? I mean, I get that he’s a flashy idiot. And he —”

“He’s like the sun,” I interrupt. “I don’t think anyone can get too close to him without being blinded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you wondering, I am aware that if you add an "S" to the beginning of Eirin's name it becomes "Seirin." . I actually didn't realize this until I was already halfway through writing the story, and by then, it was too late. The name had stuck.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	3. Chapter 3: Susumu

I’ve never been interested in sports before, but when Kise invited me to watch his practice game, I couldn’t refuse. And, surprisingly, I found myself entranced the entire time. Kise’s playing style was fascinating. He was strong and fast. Talented, and better than I’d given him credit for. I suppose he’s not big-headed for nothing.

Even today, as I do homework in the library, I find myself thinking about the game. My family has always pushed me hard in my studies, so the school library is a familiar place for me; a stack of books to my right, a pencil in my left hand. Working through problems and learning proper studying has always taken effort from me, but throughout the years, I’ve created a lot of good school habits and it’s paid off. My sister, Nyoko, who also had the same expectations laid on her, is at the top of her class alongside me in my own year.  

After two hours that would normally be spent with club work, I begin to pack up my things. A few minutes later, I’ve moved from the library, my mind tired, but liberated from the work I’ve accomplished. Even now, in my second year of high school, it’s hard for me to sit still for an extended period of time, so when I study, I like to picture something in my head to motivate me: something to look forward to. Today, I thought about Kise’s match. That, if I finished my homework early today, maybe I could go visit practice again.

I pass the gym on my way out, and even though my studying had surpassed the time the club should be practicing, I hear the sound of a basketball bouncing up and down. Pausing, I make my way toward the cracked-open doorway. My heart speeds up slightly. I thought most everyone would be gone by now (there was one irritating little problem that kept me), but someone must be practicing late.

I peer through the doorway and let out a small gasp when I see the captain, Kasamatsu Yukio. When Kise talked about the team, he always mentions him. Since he has such a prominent position, he’s one of the only faces I remember from the practice match. Dark hair, focused gaze, black socks that reach up to his knees. He’s a third-year, like my sister, Nyoko. Wait a minute. Nyoko might’ve even said he’s in the same class as her.

I watch as he dribbles the ball from one end of the court to the other then jumps into the air and throws the ball into the hoop. He races to catch it before it lands on the ground, and then runs to the other side of the court, and shoots from the three-point line. It goes in at a perfect curve.

I don’t know anything about basketball, but it looks to me like his form is great and his speed is top-notch. So why is he staying late and practicing?

My bag slips off my shoulder when I lean forward to get a better look and lands with a thud.

He whips around, the ball dropping from his hands, an echoing sound. “Who’s there?”

“Oh!” I let out a squeak. “Sorry, it’s just me. I didn’t mean to watch . . .” Well, I guess I did?

He squints at me. Then his cheeks flush. “Y-you’re the girl Kise brought the other day?”

I nod, and open the door so that I can enter the gym. “That’s right. I’m Nakahara Susumu. You’re the captain, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he mutters. He turns his gaze away from me, and I cock my head in curiosity. When I was watching him with Kise, he seemed anything but bashful. In fact, most of the time Kise describes him as “violent.”

“Do you stay late and practice a lot?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah, I guess.” He moves to grab the ball that’d fallen, nearly tripping over it in the process, and moves it around in his hands in a nervous manner.

“You can keep practicing if you like. If you don’t mind me watching, that is.”

“Oh . . . okay.” He squares his shoulders, glances at me (yet not meeting my eyes), and dribbles the ball a few times. The easy rhythm he’d had just moments before seems to be lost and the ball hits the ground in uneven jolts. His hands trembling, he moves toward the hoop and in a quick jump, plunges it toward the basket.

The ball slips from his fingers and he nearly falls.

I hold back a wince.

Face flaming, he turns back to me, and says, “Ah . . . what are you doing here again?”

That sounds a bit more like the captain I remember seeing.

I shrug. “Well, Kise invited me to watch the practice match the other day. And I didn’t really know anything about basketball before. And now, I guess you could say I’m kind of interested?”

“You’re now . . . interested in basketball. Because of . . . Kise?”

“Not just because of Kise!” I say, and it’s my turn to blush. “I like the way your team works together. Kaijou has a really good team, you know? And I’m sure a lot of it is thanks to you. You’re a great captain, after all. Even I could tell that, and I barely know anything about the sport.”

Kasamatsu frowns. “Why don’t . . . you ask Kise, then?”

“Ask him what?”

“About . . . basketball.”

“Kise’s not here. You are.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but Kasamatsu’s face turns even redder.

“So how about it?” I ask, grinning. “Educate me on some basketball, will you?”

“I —”

“You’re a third-year, right? Classes are sure to be tough. I’m really good at studying and helping people study as well. If you want, I could help you if you ever have trouble with anything. I mean, I am a second-year, but my sister Nyoko is a third-year, too, so she probably has most of the material you’d need. Anyway, it’s a great deal.”

Kasamatsu looks entirely overwhelmed.

“Do you know her?” I ask. “My sister? Nakahara Nyoko?”

“Nakahara Nyoko . . .” He looks distracted. Or perhaps still overwhelmed. “Oh. Nakahara-san? Yeah, she’s in my class.” His cheeks are still red. I wonder if there is any blood in the rest of his body.

“Awesome! So it would work out perfectly. Whaddya say?”

He blinks very quickly at me. And for several moments, he says nothing at all. I’m contemplating whether or not his brain has gone into overdrive or has stopped completely.

“S-sure,” he finally says.

“Yoohoo!” I pump my fist in the air, and I think Kasamatsu nearly faints.


	4. Chapter 4: Eirin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Sorry for the lack of updates. I originally post this on fanfiction.net, and then kind of forget about here, too. I'll try and be better. Anyway, you get a whole bunch of chapters today!

Despite my intentions not to get involved, the situation refuses to let me go.

See, after telling Kasamatsu how I felt about the team, he insisted on going out after practice and talking about it further. The conversation went something like this:

“So, you don’t like Kise.”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual, so I definitely understand.”

“So, why are we talking about this?”

“Because it’s not good to have the ace of the team being disliked by everyone!”

“Um, he’s not disliked by _everyone_. I’m pretty sure there are plenty of girls who’d pay some good money to be in your place.”

“That’s not the point. Anyway, you should help me.”

“Why?”

“B-because —”

“Because I’m a girl and Kise has yet to listen to you? Or maybe, you think he’ll get weak-kneed around me and listen to my every plea? Or you just have no one else to ask?”

“Well . . .”

“Just do it your way, Yukio. I’m sure he’ll come around someday.”

“With your help, he might!”

“And why do you want me to help so badly?”

“I dunno. You’re so . . . you don’t hold back at all. So maybe Kise needs that.”

“You kick him around. That’s not exactly holding back.”

“C’mon, Eirin. Inter-High’s coming up, and I really need to get this team together.”

In the end, I never say whether I’ll help or not. Kasamatsu knows I’m the type who’d rather watch and observe than confront things head-on, yet he’s asked me to do this absurd thing.

It’s unbelievable.

And it’s Kasamatsu. Who, I have to admit, is my best and only friend.

During class a few days later, I’m contemplating just how Kasamatsu expects me to “help him,” when I hear a burst of shrieks and a clattering of footsteps as the girls of my class rush toward the door.

Propping my chin on my hand to look at the commotion, I glean that Kise Ryouta himself has just passed by — or attempted to, at least. Looks like he’s been caught by a horde of hungry fangirls.

I stretch my arms out over my desk and moan to myself. Then I force myself out from my chair and join the fangirls. At least I’ll be camouflaged this way, and maybe I’ll be able to figure out some way to help Kasamatsu . . . not that that’s likely, seeing as I can barely form one coherent thought with all the girls pushing me around, trying to get nearer to Kise.

“Ahah, well, thanks for saying all that, but I kind of have to get to class now.” The voice, which I’m assuming belongs to Kise as it’s the only male one among the many high-pitched female ones, sounds a little impatient. “Maybe . . . do you mind waiting? How about later?”

He probably has no intention of keeping that promise. I sigh, and shove my way through the crowd. Glares are shot toward me with enough poison that most people would back down — but I’m used to it, and if he’s leaving, I’ll have gotten up for nothing. As I make my way to the front, one of the girls practically throws herself at him. He dodges — barely — but his bag slips from his shoulder and nearly falls. He somehow manages to stay upright and keep his bag from dropping to the ground (sometimes, I really hate athletic people), but as he turns and walks away, I see that a photo has fluttered out of an open pocket of his bag.

The girls all return to class, murmuring their disappointments, and no one notices the photo.

I bite my lip. On one hand, I hate the idea of chasing after him and confronting him, but this could be my only chance.

I swipe the photo from the ground, and flip it over. It’s a group of seven people, a girl and six boys in light blue and white basketball jerseys. Kise stands near the middle, a goofy grin on his face. His arm is slung over the shoulders of a shorter boy and I blink when I recognize him. It’s the one from Seirin. Kuroko was his name. He doesn’t seem too pleased about Kise’s overly affectionate action, but Kise is practically beaming in the photo. No wonder he was excited to play Seirin. Kuroko was an old teammate. Both Kise and him don’t look much younger than now, so this picture was probably taken in middle school. Which means . . .

No one can mistake that array of rainbow hair.

This is the Generation of Miracles — plus the Phantom Sixth Man who’d I’d only heard rumors of but now know to be Kuroko — and their pink-haired manager.

 Clutching the photo tighter in my fingers, I wonder why Kise would have something like this. I didn’t peg him for the sentimental type.

I brace myself, then I trace the path that Kise had taken. I don’t know what class he’s in, but I’m sure if I follow the noise of the screaming girls, I’m bound to find him. I should hurry, too, or class will start.

A few rooms down, and I locate the newest source of girls crowding around a certain model. Somehow, he manages to dart into his classroom, maybe taking a few tips from Kuroko, and the girls dissipate, muttering to themselves.

There goes my camouflage.

I take in a deep breath, then straighten myself, and rub my leg once. It’s feeling good today. There should be no problems.

The classroom door is still open, with less than two minutes till the bell rings. I’m going to be _so_ late. This better be worth it, Kasamatsu.

“Hey, hey, Kise,” a boy says, not at all quietly. He even points at me. “I think there’s another girl who wants to confess to you.”

I must’ve been staring at Kise. My face goes red and I nearly rip the photo in two, I’m gripping it so hard. “U-um, if I could just have a moment —?”

Kise, who had just gotten situated in his seat, lets out an audible sigh, but stands up anyway and moves toward me. “Well?” he asks, glancing at me but not really looking at me. “Where do you want to do this?”

_This?_

It takes me a moment to realize that he believes this is a confession.

“O-oh! Wait, you’re wrong! I’m not — I’m not —” My face is well and truly red now. He stares at me, a bored expression on his face, like he’s seen this all before. The thought is humiliating. He tilts his head somewhat, and glances around, nodding at the people staring at us.

It’s all or nothing.

I shove the photo toward him.

His eyes widen in surprise, but he just manages to grab it before it falls to the ground. “Wha— oh! This is —?”

“You dropped it!” I blurt out. “You dropped it outside of my classroom.”

“And you thought to use it to get closer to me?” He inspects the photo, which is somewhat wrinkled now.

“Of course not!” My temper flares, heat rushing to my cheeks in an entirely different way. How dare he accuse me of such a thing? I’m just returning his photo — no ulterior motives!

Okay, well, one. But not the one he thinks.

“So why’d you give it back to me? Most people would like to have a photo of me.”

Oh, goodness. The cockiness is going to kill me.

I wrinkle my brow. “For starters, it’s not just you in the picture. Plus, it’s not even that good a picture of you. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“What?!”

“It’s a precious picture, isn’t it? That’s why I returned it. You carry it around with you, for goodness’ sake.”

Deciding that’s enough for now, I spin on my heel, nearly huffing, and begin to make my way back to my classroom. The bell is due to ring any second now.

And just on cue, I hear the familiar chiming noise, and groan to myself. I quicken my pace, but then realize something’s holding me back — _someone_.

Did he just grab my arm?

Kise whirls me around, and he waves the photo in my face. “Thank you,” he says, loud and clear, almost like I’m a child. “For taking the time to return this when you didn’t have to.”

I stare at him. He lets go of my arm. Smiles. Then walks away.

Oh, I’m in big trouble.


	5. Chapter 5: Susumu

“Susumuuuuu!”

I twist at the sound of my name to see my sister dashing toward me. Her hair is done up in a bun, but strings of hair escape as she runs, the wind refusing to let them stay in place. I shoot a frame in my head and itch to take my camera out of my bag, but I’m already running late as it is. Kise has probably been waiting for several minutes (though he’s hardly punctual, either).

 “What is it?” I ask her, slinging my bag over my shoulder. It’s a sunny, Saturday afternoon, which makes me mourn the unfortunate timing even more. If I could just snap one picture . . .  

“What are you up to?” she asks. “Going to your job?”

I nod and glance at her nice clothes, heels and make-up and all. “What about you? A date?”

Her face flushes. “Oh, nothing like that. I’m just going out with friends.”

“Right.”

“But I thought I’d walk along with you, since it’s in the same direction. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Sure, why not?”

That is my sister, ever considerate, always sweet. At least — that’s how she usually acts, but sometimes she’ll let loose around me. Most of the time it’s hard to tell the two of us are sisters, but when she relaxes, she can be just as bold as I can.

“So how is your job going?” she asks, walking alongside me, and combing a hand through her hair.

I glance up at the sky, thinking of the lighting, then dismissing the background. Neighborhood houses really don’t make an ideal setting. Plus, my camera memory is low. Shame, since she’s dressed up. “It’s fine so far,” I say. “I haven’t worked much, though, yet.”

“You work with Kise Ryouta, don’t you?”

I wince, but nod. “Yes. Sort of.”

I’d _thought_ his name was familiar when I’d heard it, and sure enough, when I returned home, I found my sister thumbing through a magazine, and guess who was on the cover? Kise’s face.

Nyoko blushes and says, “That’s pretty cool. I’m sure lots of girls are jealous of you.”

“It’s not like that,” I say, giving her a sideways glance. After finding out we were to be coworkers of a sort, Kise’s been more than friendly. Clingy, even. But I doubt he means anything by it. He seems to be like that with everyone.

Under my stare, she squares her shoulders, and faces forward, her fantasies giving way to practicality. “Third-year really is a lot harder,” she says. “I might have to have some of your help soon. You still study in the library?”

“Every now and then, yeah.”

Nyoko nods absentmindedly, and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear; it almost immediately falls back in front of her eyes.

I smile to myself, and together, we walk toward the train station.

Nyoko has always had two sides to herself. Most people are only lucky to know one: the smart and sensible side, quiet and a little shy, but friendly and nice once you get to know her. As far as I know, I’m the only one who knows that when she returns home, she dreams about unbelievable romances and looks through the _Zunon Boy_ magazines.

Perhaps, though, her dressing up today is a sign of something changing.

* * *

Like usual, Kise jabbers on for most of the way to the agency. He talks about basketball. His fans. A homework problem he finally solved. I’ll cut in every now and then with my opinion, and we’ll share a laugh.

We part when we enter the building, and I make my way up to Abe-san’s room. It’s as crowded as ever when I enter, and I groan. Last time, I’d been working to clean it up, but it looks like it’s been reverted back to its previous status.

“Hello?” I call. “Abe-san? I’m here.”

When no one answers, I sigh, figuring maybe he’s in the bathroom or something. Setting my things down in a corner, I grab the thing nearest me and begin to tidy up the room once more.

A few seconds later, the door behind me thuds open. I jump, and drop a few painted wooden masks.

“Oh. Nakahara-san. Is it that time already?”

“Y-yes. What would you like me to do today?”

He scratches his chin and glances around the room. Then he says, “What do you like to do, Nakahara-san?”

The question catches me off-guard. I’ve been helping him for several days now and most of the time he just assigns me something random to do, before heading to do his own work (or nap). This is one of the first signs of interest he’s shown in me. “Eh?” I say blankly.

He motions toward my bag. “You have a camera, right? And you were hoping to shadow me, so I take it you like photography. But what else?”

“Well . . . I enjoy singing.”

“Singing?” His eyebrows rise. “That’s unusual.”

I frown. Is it? I consider singing to be a rather normal hobby.

“Are you any good?”

“I . . . I don’t know. My siblings says I am.”

“Siblings? How many do you have?”

“A brother and sister. Both older.”

“Ah, well, siblings usually have good taste. Go on, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sing for me.”

I stare at him. He looks back unwaveringly.

Then I open my mouth.

A few minutes later, he claps his hands. “Very good! I wasn’t expecting that. But you really are quite excellent. Now, that makes me wonder . . . it’s quite an interesting contradiction, isn’t it?”

I straighten the masks I’d dropped, and take a few steps closer to him. “What do you mean?”

“You clearly had no qualms about performing in front of me. You even enjoyed it. I could see the look in your eyes. You like to show off — that’s a good thing. And yet, you also came here because you wanted to put others in the spotlight. Isn’t that funny?”

I glance over at my camera, stuffed in my bag. Then down at my hands, wide-open palms. “I don’t really think it’s funny at all, Abe-san,” I say. “It’s just who I am, and what I enjoy doing.”

* * *

As I head home, twilight threading itself through the sky, I hear the faint strains of a guitar sounding in the air. Almost like it’s instinct, my feet direct me toward the sound, and even though I don’t know the tune, I start humming along, creating a unique sort of harmony.

It’s nice, I think. Hearing music wherever you go. Before I reach the source of the sound, though, the guitar player stops. I wait several moments, hoping they’ll begin again, but the sound is gone.


	6. Chapter 6: Eirin

I slip off my school shoes with a sigh, glad that the day is finally over. It’s not that anything bad has happened or that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. No, nothing like that. Just going around school and having to be around people is exhausting.

Not that I really talk to them, but whatever.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, groaning at its heavy contents, and make my way out of the school building. History club is genuinely on break today, so I can go home early with a clear conscious. It’s still plenty light out, and I should be able to make it back in time before dinner if I hurry. My house’s farther away than most, but the distance is usually worth it.

When I first started coming to Kaijou, I would enjoy the sight of the cherry trees blooming. Even though I’m not typically one who likes being outside, I can still appreciate nature. And you’d have to be blind not to understand how beautiful the pink blossoms floating through the air were.

But it’s June now and the cherry trees have long since stopped blooming.

The walk is much less enjoyable now.

I quicken my pace, the evening warm, the air still, and begin to make my way home as soon as possible. If there’s no scenery, I have no need to stall.

Just then, there’s a shout.

“Hey, wait up!”

No one ever talks to me, so I continue at the same pace, figuring that another person is being called out to.

But then someone falls into step beside me and their hand darts out and grabs my wrist.

I whirl around, shocked, pulling my hand away in the process. Taking a few steps back so I can properly face whoever it is, I look up to see —

Oh, great.

It’s Kise Ryouta.

Recently, I’ve been trying to contemplate the being that is currently standing in front of me. I have had theories that perhaps he has a personality disorder. At times, it seems like he’s all sunshine, for his fangirls and for his teammates. At other times, it seems like he doesn’t care about anyone other than himself — give _him_ the ball only, don’t bother _him_ , he has his own schedule and you’re interrupting _his_ time. But then, there are some times when he seems . . . genuine.

Like when he thanked me for returning his photo.

And then there is his current persona. Sunshine front, maybe? It’s like he constantly switches between them, choosing each façade for whichever situation pleases him. I don’t know if he’s just a brilliant actor or if he really does have some crazy disorder . . . or if it’s just who he is.

“Hey.” He grins and raises a hand in greeting.

I stare stupidly at him for a few seconds. Then I twist on my heel and keep walking. Almost as if he’d expected this, he easily keeps up with me.

“I never got your name,” he says. “Or what class you’re in. Are you a first-year like me? I would think so. Didn’t you say I dropped my photo outside of your classroom? Well, I only pass the first-year classrooms.”

He is incessant.

Normally, I would try to avoid people like him at all cost. Overly confident, fake-sounding, too bright for their own good. But wasn’t the point of returning his photo to get close to him anyway? To do the favor for Kasamatsu?

So I say, “I’m a first-year. Ichikawa Eirin.”

His grin widens and I swear, it’s like he’s bouncing. “Awesome. So how do you like Kaijou so far? I think it’s pretty great. I mean, at least the basketball team seems strong. They did get me, though.”

“Hmm.”

Either he doesn’t remember that I was watching the team at the practice match, or he never noticed me in the first place. Probably the latter. Most likely, he was too focused on that other girl to pay any attention to me.

“Where do you live?” he asks. “I’ll walk you home. I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”

I stop abruptly and his shoulder bumps into mine. He’d inched closer to me as we’d walked. I side-step away from him, and I’m fairly certain he notices, but I couldn’t care less.

“Why would you want to walk me home?” I ask. “And why are you even walking with me right now?”

He blinks. “Why not? I want to get to know you better.”

For a moment, my head spins with his bluntness. I manage to gather my thoughts and somehow form a response. “I still don’t understand. I just returned a photo.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? You didn’t have to. And I don’t think you really even wanted to.”

“. . . so?”

“I want to know why you did,” he clarifies. “So I’ll walk you home. Until I figure out what your reasons are, let me get to know you.”

“I don’t think that’s so easily said and done.”

“But it’ll be fun anyway.”

I stare at him, and he just grins back, so confident in what he’s saying. Like nothing could go wrong. He has no idea, though, what he could be getting into. What he could be starting, creating, or even ending.

Finally, I say, “I live pretty far away from here. You don’t want to go all the way.”

“Like I said” — he punctuates the words to emphasize them — “I don’t have anything going on, so lead the way, ’kay? Ichikawa-san.” He cocks his head when he says my name, and I’m not particularly sure I like the way he says it.

Sighing, and figuring that he’s probably immune to my powers of dissuasion, I begin walking and he tags after me, chattering once more to fill the silence. Part of me wishes that he’d shut up; but another part of me almost enjoys it, his useless talk. Because even though I might not want to admit it, the walks were somewhat lonely. Even with cherry blossoms to keep me company, there was always quiet.

But now, it’s almost like there’s a light shining through the trees.

It’s kind of blinding.

* * *

When we board the train back to my house, someone spots Kise. It was inevitable, I suppose. He is a famous model and basketball player. I duck down, hoping they don’t spot me — or at least spot me being _with_ him. He talks with them flawlessly, thanking them for their support, signing a few things, and whatnot.

As more girls crowd around him, though, I see my chance.

The train approaches a stop, and while it’s not the one I usually take, it’s close enough that a few extra minutes of walking won’t hurt me. I slip through the crowd and without him noticing, escape from Kise and his fangirls.

The walk home is relatively quiet. The noises of the evening fill the motionless air and I have to breathe in deep several times to calm my nerves from the encounter with Kise. I never really expected him to confront me, and honestly, after having dropped off the photo, I had no idea what I was going to do next to help Kasamatsu.

I guess some miraculous things do happen.

I wonder if he’ll continue to want to walk me home after I’ve ditched him, though.

There was no way I was taking him to my house, though.

I have to snake my way across the long driveway before I get to the entrance door. He surely would’ve raised an eyebrow at that — even seeing the iron gates before the driveway would’ve called up questions.

“Mom!” I call when I enter the house, taking off my shoes and hanging my bag on a hook near the door. “I’m home.”

“Eirin.” My mom enters in from the living room and gives me a serene smile. “I’m glad you’re safe. You were a few minutes late.”

“I accidentally got off at the wrong stop.” Not exactly true, but . . .

“Very well, then. Dinner will be ready momentarily. Go up and fetch your brother, will you?”

I nod, glancing at the polished floors and the heavy scent of aroma in the air. Once she leaves, returning to reading a thick book that’s sure to be full of boring stuff, I dart up the stairs and to the second floor.

My little brother, Masuhiro, is in his room, dutifully studying like usual. He has gentle piano music straining through some speakers, and he’s hunched over his desk, two pencils lined up in a straight row beside him, and books stacked in neat piles, ready to be opened and read.

“Masuhiro,” I say. “Mom says dinner’s almost ready.”

“’Kay,” he mumbles, and he scribbles another line. And another. A few more.

I sigh. Repeat myself.

“Right. I heard you the first time.”

“Well, then actually get up and listen to me.”

He lays his pencil down, carefully setting it next to the others, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m not that hungry. And I’m in a really good place right now.”

“And I’m sure Mom is so proud that you’re getting so much work done,” I say, rolling my eyes, “but she also hates it when we miss meals, so come on.”

He sighs, but gets up and follows me.

I glance back once more at his room, then close the door, shutting out the sound of the piano keys and the soft music.


	7. Chapter 7: Susumu

After studying, I stop by the vending machine, and pop in some coin for a couple of drinks. I don’t know what kind Kasamatsu prefers, so I get a generic kind. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drink his.

I try to stuff the drinks into my bag, which are already full of books, but in the end, I have to carry one in my hand. As I walk toward the gym, I screw the lid off and take a sip. The day is nice, summer nearing, the warm breeze hailing it.

Like expected, I hear the thud-thud of the ball as I approach the gym, the door cracked open to let the sound escape. I haven’t been back since I first found Kasamatsu staying late and practicing, my family getting in the way, or being too tired after studying to even feel like playing ball. However, today I’m fully hyped up and ready to show Kasamatsu my skills. Or lack thereof.

I push open the door and announce myself loudly. “Kasamatsu-senpaiii!”

I hear a loud slam and see the ball flying through the air toward me. I let out a cry and dodge to the side — my bottle goes the other direction, and even though I’d capped it, I hadn’t secured it tightly enough. I cringe as blue-colored liquid begins to pool out onto the gym floor.

“Whoops,” I say sheepishly, rubbing my head and moving over to get the bottle. “Do you have a cloth somewhere?”

Kasamatsu scrambles to get the stray ball, then turns to me, his face pale. “W-what are you doing here?” he asks, like I’m an apparition.

“Um, I asked you to teach me how to play, remember?”

“R-right.” He was clearly trying to forget. He turns his head away and clutches the ball even harder. Sorta like an anchor.

I grin. “So, about that something to clean this up with?” 

“Oh. Right. There should be something over here. . . .”

He moves away for a few seconds, probably glad for the excuse, before returning with some paper towels and offering it to me. Thanking him, I take it, and begin to wipe up the spilled drink.

“What are you going to teach me?” I ask Kasamatsu while I clean.

“Huh?”

“In basketball. Are you going to teach me how to shoot? Dribbling? Passing?”

“Probably stance and ball-handling,” he mutters.

“Sounds great!” I must sound too enthusiastic because he looks taken aback. “I mean . . . that sounds like a nice start. I think I’m done here now. I’ll just go throw this away. Be right back!”

When I return, Kasamatsu is in the same spot, staring at where I’d been standing. His gaze darts toward me, and it almost looks like he was hoping I wouldn’t come back. Or that maybe something would come and kidnap me, getting rid of me, and consequently, his problem.

I just grin at him, and take a ball from a nearby bin. I bounce it experimentally but it slips out of my hands immediately. “So how do you do this, Captain-Senpai?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Well . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, spiking it up funny, thinking of how to explain it to me. “Try to just get a feel for the ball first. From there, I can teach you the actual techniques. Just . . . just get familiar with it, okay?”

I nod and try to dribble again with a little more success this time. As I move around the court in circles, my arm shifting up and down, the ball sometimes flying toward the wall before I run after it to catch it, Kasamatsu observes me carefully. I revel in the attention. I have the feeling he is both intrigued by me and yet embarrassed to be watching at the same time. Now he is an interesting contradiction.

A few minutes later, I dribble the ball near to him, managing to keep it in a near-straight line. “How’s that?” I ask.

“Not too bad,” he says. “You say you don’t know anything about the sport?”

I nod, and catch the ball in my hands, rolling it between my fingers. “I’ve never really done any sports. Mostly just studying.”

“Oh.” He glances away, then begins to give me a few pointers, while still not looking at me. I adjust my position according to his words and try again, finding that the ball passes through my hands more easily, and I can switch directions faster.

A half hour passes with him giving me more tips and finally letting me practice on my own. I tell him to get some of his own practice in, since he’s staying late to work extra after all, and I don’t want to be too much of a bother. He looks appreciative at the thought and so we each pick half of the court. For a while, all I can hear is the bouncing of the ball and the drumming of my heart in my ears.

“This was fun!” I say, after we’ve decided to be done for the day. I wipe my brow from sweat and send a grin over to Kasamatsu. He just stares back, like he isn’t sure how to reply.

I move over to my book bag, and as I pick it up, I realize I’d forgotten to give him his drink. He’s already darted out of the gym, probably headed home as quickly as he can to avoid me, but I chase after him, digging into my bag to find the bottle.

“Kasamatsu-senpai!” I call, and I see him in the distance. He must’ve run, because there was no way he could’ve made it that far already otherwise. He really is an athlete, to have enough endurance to do his team practice, his own with me, and now still have enough energy to run home. Or maybe he’s just desperate to get away from me. That’s highly possible; I caught him stealing glances at the door the whole last hour.

He slows when he hears my shout, but I can see the reluctance in his movements as I catch up.

“I forgot,” I say, panting as I reach him. “I forgot to give you this.”

I thrust the bottle toward him and he manages to grab it before it falls. His eyes are wide and surprised as his hands wrap around the bottle. “You got this for — for me?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I figured you could use a nice, cold drink. Except it’s not cold anymore. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s . . . fine. Thanks.” He uncaps the lid and takes a few deep sips. It’s probably mostly just for courtesy’s sake but my smile widens anyway.

We begin walking again, together in a way, though I don’t think either of us said anything about it. I don’t even know where he lives, and he doesn’t even know where I live, but so far, it seems like our homes are in the same direction, so for the time being, we stick side-by-side.

“It’s getting dark out,” I observe, glancing up at the sky, clouds passing over it.

He doesn’t reply. Perhaps he didn’t hear me. Or he’s ignoring me.

“Do you like the summer? I’m pretty excited that it’s coming up. I like the warmer weather.”

“Summer’s fine,” he says. “Inter-High is during the summer. . . .”

“Inter-High?”

“Basketball tournament,” he grunts out, and I don’t question further.

“Oh, that’s right. I think Kise mentioned something about that. Sounds fun. I bet you guys will do great.”

Once again, he doesn’t comment. I’d been about to say something else, but my mouth closes, forgetting the words, and we walk for the rest of the time in near silence.

“My apartment is coming up,” I say. “I’m pretty close to school, yeah? It’s nice. Barely a ten-minute walk. Don’t have to take a train or anything.”

“Wait. What?”

Surprised by his outburst, I point to  a building in the distance. “That’s where I live. Over there, see?”

He blinks. Then his mouth gapes open. “But — but that’s where _I_ live.”

The way he says it, it makes it sound like there’s no way it’s possible I can live there as well.

I can’t help it. I double over and start laughing.


	8. Chapter 8: Eirin

The question is similar to a slap in the face, though with less backlash.

“Eirin, have you made any friends yet?”

It is not the innocent question a parent might ask her kid, a smile on her face, wondering if her daughter is doing all right in school, hoping that she’s making _new_ and _wonderful_ friends. My mother knows my entire situation, and she doesn’t mince words.

It is, to put it bluntly, the type of question meant to pull out an answer, whether it stings or not.

I straighten. I look up at her, lounging on a dining room chair, her manicured nails holding a glass cup with perfect form. She peers at me carefully, her gaze steady and sharp. Masuhiro, who is sitting opposite of me, stiffens at the tension level rising in the room, and ducks his head to quickly wolf down his breakfast.

I smile at Mom. Even if I’m not the perfect child she’d hoped for, a nice, well-mannered girl with good grades and senses, I’ve still been taught all the different types of courtesies. Mom’s eyes tighten at my own forced smile, and she sets her glass down with a clink.

“Eirin,” she says, “I know you’re not happy right now. But we do have a standing in this community, and I believe it’s our job to put forth a good image. I can’t have you just doing whatever you please.”

“I know.” I release my hold on my chopsticks and they clatter onto the plate.

She sighs, and glances at Masuhiro. The good one. The second try who bore fruit. She smiles at him and he gives a hesitant smile back. I feel sick. Then her sharp stare turns back to me. “Eirin, if you could just be like —”

_Be like Masuhiro. Be an example. Be perfect._

But I can’t.

It’s all my fault.

“Your father —”

I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. “Don’t talk to me about Dad,” I say, my voice like ice.

Then I turn and exit the room, unable to stand the way she looks at me. 

* * *

Ever since I ditched Kise on the train, I’ve been avoiding him. Sometimes I see him in the halls, always surrounded by his fangirls, but it’s always easy enough to duck out of view and enter another hallway. Even if he sees me, I doubt he can get away to come after me. Not that I think he would want to. After all, he expressed a desire once to get to know me better. That doesn’t mean it still holds true.

After my mandatory club work (I mean, can’t skip all the time, unfortunately), I head out of the room as quickly as possible. My bag weighs on my shoulders but I reach the entrance hall in little more than a minute. However, when I move to take my _uwabaki_ off, I find that my normal shoes have disappeared.

Blinking in confusion, I place my bag down, and stare at the cubby hole that I could’ve sworn was mine. Did I get the wrong one? No, that’s my name marking it.

Frowning, I lean forward and squint into the hole. But just staring at it doesn’t make my shoes appear.

I sigh. Great. Just what I needed. Now I won’t be able to get away in case —

“Ichikawa-san!”

It’s like my thoughts had summoned him.

I groan and turn around to face Kise, who has a big grin on his face . . . and my shoes in his hands.

Before I know what I’m doing, I dart forward and snatch them away from him. He doesn’t resist and watches me with an amused expression as I pull off my _uwabaki_ , shooting him glares all the while.

“Technically,” he says, “you brought it upon yourself.”

Is this his selfish self?

“That’s still no reason for you to steal my shoes,” I say, standing up, and hoisting my bag up once again. My legs begin moving at a fast pace, and just like I expected, he follows.

“I didn’t _steal_ them. I just borrowed them. So I could talk to you.”

“Well, you’ve accomplished that. We’ve talked.”

“I don’t think this really qualifies.”

“If you’re looking to have some kind of heart-to-heart, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind either, no.” He walks easily next to me, and even though I’d taken the lead, he’s almost ahead of me now. Sometimes, I dislike tall people. “I don’t mind if we don’t talk about anything serious. I’d just like to hang out with you for more than a few minutes.”

“And if I refuse?”

He flashes me a grin. “I refuse to accept that you refuse to accept me.”

My steps slow, and he stops when he realizes that I’m no longer beside him, casting a glance back at me. His eyes look at me. That’s really all. If I was better, better at reading people and observing them and understanding them, maybe I could figure out who he is. What he is. But all I really see is that he’s looking at me. His expression puzzles me, because it’s not concerned like Kasamatsu’s would be. It’s not disappointed like Mom’s. It’s not like anyone else’s — judging, laughing, cruel.

It’s a strange thought for me: for someone to be able to see something (something like me, especially) and just to see it for what it is.

“Ichikawa-san?” he says. A prompt. Because I’ve been silent for too long now, debating his curious existence.

I bend down, stretching, and rub my leg. I feel Kise watching me, and when I straighten, I say, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I walk up to him, looking him straight in the eyes. If he is willing to look at me, then I will look back. I say, once again, “Okay. Where to?”

His eyes light up, and a grin spreads over his face. A real grin. “Do you like ice cream?”

I find myself wondering just what I’ve gotten into, but I answer anyway. “Who doesn’t?”

* * *

Kise leads me down the streets to the edge of the city and into a small ice cream shop. I’ve never been to it, never even seen it, though that’s hardly surprising. I don’t spend much of my time exploring — it’s not like I even have any friends to go out and do things with, as my mom so kindly pointed out this morning.

The inside of the shop is small, brightly lit and colored, with round tables surrounded by spindly chairs sprinkled around the floor.

“I’ll order for you,” Kise says, approaching the counter. “What do you want?”

I take a quick glance at the menu, but I already know what I’m getting. “Chocolate. Double-scoop.”

“Got it. Go find us a seat, why don’t you?”

While he goes up to get the food, I pick a table near the window, with sunshine streaming through. A few minutes later, Kise returns, and I almost start drooling. Mom doesn’t like cold things so we rarely go out for ice cream; it was always Dad that had to take Masuhiro and me to experience the cool, creamy goodness. Kise sets mine down before me and I eagerly pull it toward me. Then I glance at his own, before asking politely, “What’d you get?”

“Strawberry milkshake. With extra whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.”

That sounds just like him — ridiculous. Maybe you can really tell something about a person from the flavor of ice cream they get. I’ve always gotten chocolate. Masuhiro would always try something new. And Dad . . . Dad would always get some version of strawberry.

“Ichikawa-san, what’s that look for?”

“Mm, nothing.” I take a spoon and begin to dig into my ice cream, savoring the creamy chocolateness of it.

 He sips at his milkshake slowly, staring at me the whole time. I find it unnerving and am about to ask him to stop when he looks away. He gazes out the window, at the sunlight spilling onto the table’s top, and wiggles his straw back and forth. “Do you ever smile, Ichikawa-san?” is what he asks me.

“Huh?”

“It’s just, I never see you smile.”

Again, I say, “Huh?”

He stretches back in his chair, and his gaze focuses on me once again. My spoon slips from my hand and drops to the ground. “Well,” he says, “I suppose that’s it. I’ve found my goal.”

“Your goal?”

“Yes. I’m going to make you smile.”

And then he flashes me his own brightest smile, as if he’s hoping from that alone, he can draw one out from me.

I scowl.


	9. Chapter 9: Susumu

From then on, I begin to walk home with Kasamatsu. I’m not entirely sure if he enjoys it or if he would rather be dying a slow death. Probably the latter, knowing him, but what can I do? My brother Hideo has always said I’m persistent to a fault.

It’s already become a steady routine. Study at the library, buy some drinks, then head to the gym. Kasamatsu will teach me some new techniques or we’ll practice and refine the ones I’ve learned before. Then we’ll both train on our own, and finally, walk home together. Actually, I’m not sure if we’re walking home _together_. It’s more like, I’m beside him while we’re heading home on the same path at the same time. That sort of thing.

“So, Kasamatsu-senpai.” I draw out his name, and he flinches at my voice. I swallow a laugh. We’re halfway back to the apartment and he has yet to say a word; it’s my mission each time to get a few sentences out of him.

He’s been getting a bit more comfortable with me, maybe. At least, he doesn’t trip over himself all the time while showing me basketball. But when I catch him off-guard, his face will still go the color of tomatoes. I find it quite refreshing.

“Inter-High is soon, yeah?”

He nods. “T-that’s right.”

“Well, I’m sure you guys will pass the preliminaries really easily. This is Kaijou we are talking about, after all.”

“Mmm.” He glances into the distance, and I wonder what he’s thinking about. With Kise, who still walks me to work when he has time, he always says whatever’s on his mind. On one hand, it’s kind of nice to have someone who doesn’t just blurt out whatever they want. On another, I really would like to know what Kasamatsu is thinking deep underneath.

“You guys have a good team, too,” I say quickly, hoping to get something else from him. “Moriyama-senpai, Kobori-senpai, Hayakawa-kun, and Kise-kun, of course.”

“Yeah . . . it is a pretty good team.” He looks mildly uncomfortable with saying it, and I wonder what’s bothering him.

“Of course, you make an awesome point guard and captain as well,” I add. “With your skills and leadership, you can lead everyone to victory, I’m sure.”

He stiffens, and stops walking. I have to backtrack, going over my words. What did I say to make him react like that?

“Do you really think that?” he asks. His voice is quiet.

There was one day when I skipped my usual study, and I snuck into the gym to watch the whole team practice. It was strange, I thought. When Kasamatsu’s with me, he always seems soft-spoken and unsure of himself. But around the team — _his_ team — he shouts as hard as he can, pushes them as hard as he can, and works to the best of his ability. Other than that steel-hard dedication, he is almost nothing like the boy I see in our late-afternoon practices. I find myself fascinated with the difference, and wanting to see more of it.

He is looking at me for once, a steady gaze, straight into my eyes. I’ve never noticed before — perhaps because he always tries his hardest not to look at me — but now, there’s nothing between our gaze. I swallow. His eyes are a blue-gray color, kind of like a stormy sky.

I say, “I believe that you can do anything you set your heart out to do.”

He turns his head away then, and lets out a low laugh. “That’s so like you.” He begins walking once again, hands in his pockets.

I blink. That’s like me? The words don’t even sound like something he’d say — they’re not condescending, but just a statement. The fact that he would even say something like that, like he knows and understands me, surprises me, and spurns my legs to move and catch up with him.

He has surprised me in more than one way. I wonder how many more sides of him I’ll be able to see. I’m looking forward to them.

* * *

“I’m home!” I call out to my quiet house. There is a shuffle from inside one of the rooms, and the door opens to reveal the shadowy form of my mom. She switches on a light, bathing the room in a warm glow.

“Welcome home, Susumu,” she says. “How was your day? Did you get lots of studying in?”

I nod, feeling a bit guilty. Truthfully, lately, I’ve been more focused on learning basketball with Kasamatsu than studying. Though somehow I still make it to the library every day. Probably because he has to practice with his team and I don’t want to distract him from that (because obviously having a girl in the midst is not good for captain-senpai’s heart).

“How have you been feeling lately?” she asks, pursing her lips at me. She glances toward my book bag and I clutch it tighter toward me. Sometimes, it’s almost like she has x-Ray vision — I just hope she can’t see the sweaty clothes stuffed in by my dictionary.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You seem . . . a bit distracted. You and Nyoko both.”

“Nyoko?”

My voice must betray my confusion (and subsequent innocence, of course) because Mom opens her mouth to explain, but at that moment, the door swings open behind me, and Nyoko stumbles in. Her face is flushed red, her hair swept across her cheeks. It’s windy and hot outside so one could simply attribute her demeanor to the weather but then there’s her expression . . . she’s happy. Really happy.

My stomach drops inside me.

Behind Nyoko, my dad enters, his eyes going from my sister to me, a steel look on his face. “I’d just run into Nyoko on my way home,” he says. “It seems like she was with friends.”

“Y-yes,” Nyoko says, the glee on her face slowly ebbing away. “We were having a study session together.”

Eyeing Nyoko, I shake my head slightly. Yes. Studying.

Dad checks his watch and says, “It’s late. How about the four of us go to grab something to eat? My treat. You two can tell us about how school’s going.”

I cringe at the thought. The night out is really nothing more than an excuse to hear about our grades. Just like usual. Nyoko and I glance at each other, and then, as one, we nod. Her cheeks are pale now.

There is no escape from these things. That is the thought ringing through both of our heads. But if we’re to be true with ourselves, there is. It’s the one he took. Our brother. He escaped. He just did it too well.


	10. Chapter 10: Eirin

Kasamatsu has been so busy with practicing for Inter-High that I’ve hardly seen him at all. It’s one rainy afternoon, though, when club work finishes early, that for some reason, I find myself nearing the gym. Rather, running toward the gym. The raindrops pound down on me, and even as I race toward the building, I still get soaked, my leg aching.

They’re still practicing when I let myself in, my shoes squeaking against the floor, my clothes leaving puddles. They’re so involved that I don’t think anyone notices me, even though I let in a loud gust of wind.

Apparently, my thinking is flawed, though, because a second later, I catch a blond head barreling toward me, and I have to duck out of the way to avoid him before he crashes into me. My leg almost collapses, but I manage to catch myself.

“Ichikawa-san!” Kise says, grinning. “Did you come to watch me practice? That’s unusual. Oh, and you’re drenched.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah. Just like you.”

Kise glances down at himself, and wipes some of his sweat from his forehead. Using his shirt. Which reveals . . . I try not to think about it.

_“Kise!”_

We both turn at the voice, but Kise’s not quick enough, and still receives a kick in the back for ditching practice.

“Yukio,” I greet.

“Don’t call me that in public.” Kasamatsu scowls. “But what are you doing here, anyway?”

I shrug nonchalantly and Kasamatsu lets it drop. He pulls Kise to his feet and says, “We gotta get back to practice, but it’s only a few minutes. I’ll catch you after, okay?” Then he drags Kise back unceremoniously to where some of the guys are eyeing me curiously. Probably wondering how Kasamatsu can talk to me straight-faced.

“Senpai,” Kise whines, struggling against Kasamatsu. “That should be my line!”

“What!” Kasamatsu’s grip weakens in surprise, and Kise falls to the ground with a thud, though he quickly rights himself. With a smile on his face, too.

“I mean,” Kise says, glancing at me. “I’m the one who should be walking Ichikawa-san home, right?”

My face goes red. Did Kise really just say what I think he did?

Kasamatsu looks similarly flushed, but his is more in confusion — the “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think my ace is flirting with my childhood friend” kind of flustered thing. He glances at me, and seeing that I look like I might blow up any second, he assertively lands a blow in Kise’s side, who yelps, and then yanks him back into practice.

Thank goodness for childhood friends who aren’t afraid of taking action.

Five minutes later, and practice is over. To my horror, both Kasamatsu and Kise approach me at the same time. I’m just about wondering if I should ditch the whole thing when Kise accurately reads my intentions and calls out to me, “Ichikawa-san, wait up for me!”

I wince, but still my body (which had been half-turned toward the glorious-looking exit).

“Eirin,” Kasamatsu says when he reaches my side, and a questioning look switches between me and Kise.

“Um . . . “

I really don’t know how to explain this one.

Dropped photo. Strange intentions. Walks home? 

Yeah, they make no sense.

Kise, on the other hand, is looking expectantly back from me and Kasamatsu. “Do you two know each other?” he says.

I’ve never mentioned the fact that I know Kise’s captain or that said captain is my only friend. Mainly because Kise does all the talking. Partly because it’s none of his business.

“We’re friends,” I say, because Kasamatsu’s face had gone red and it looked like he might choke on his tongue.

“I see.” Kise glances back at me. He doesn’t seem fazed by my short explanation at all, but simply plows on. “So, what do you say, Ichikawa-san?”

I don’t need him to clarify to know what he’s talking about.

Kise has only walked me home a few times before, and while they haven’t been entirely unpleasant, it’s not like I look forward to them. Perhaps he knows this, because for some reason, he asks me each time. For a guy like him, I find it oddly considerate. And I’ve never refused. Not since the first time.

“Okay,” I say.

He pumps his fist in the air. “All right, then! We’ll see you later, then, Kasamatsu-senpai.”

“Yep. See ya, Yukio-chan-senpai.”

Kasamatsu might kill me someday, but being able to call him that is worth it.

* * *

“So you like basketball, Ichikawa-san?”

It’s the first time we’ve ever broached the subject of basketball. Kind of surprising, seeing as it’s such a big part of his life. (And mine, but that’s beside the point.) The last few times he’s taken me home, we haven’t really talked much about anything. He sometimes says something random, trying to get a smile out of me (or so goes his excuse), but topics related to school will rarely come up. I guess I’m just not that talkative of a person. Strangely, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, I suppose,” I say.

“Kasamatsu-senpai really likes it, doesn’t he?”

I blink a few times, surprised by the question. “Yeah. I guess so.” 

He falls quiet for a few moments. Looks down at his feet. Kicks a few pebbles into the mud.

I suddenly feel bad. Because he is trying. In a way. To befriend someone like me, who obviously is not friend material. And today, even in the short five minutes I was there, he seemed . . . to be working hard in basketball as well.

“How are the preliminaries?”

The question falls out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Huh?” At first, he seems confused. Probably by the fact that I actually asked something. Then a soft smile stretches across his face. “Oh, they’re good. I think they’ll go pretty smooth.”

“Well, the team is pretty nice,” I say. “I mean, it’s probably one of the strongest I’ve seen in a while.”

“You think?”

“Don’t you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just do the best I can and try to get in as many goals as possible.”

“I’ve . . . noticed that.”

“What do you mean?”

I snort. “You always like hogging the ball to yourself. Do you rely on your teammates at all?”

He looks confused by the question. “But I’m better than them,” he says. “If I can get the shot in, why shouldn’t I have the ball?”

He really is an arrogant mess. “Just because you have some talent doesn’t mean you’re _better_ than them. Just because you’re the ace doesn’t mean you should be the only one making shots. _Because_ you’re the ace, you should be leading your team and doing as much as possible to ensure everyone can use their full potential and strengths.”

Blinking several times, he opens his mouth for a moment — then closes it. He doesn’t say anything for the next few feet we walk.

I continue, as if I haven’t just stunned him silent for the first time. “Kasamatsu’s worked really hard on this team and to improve his own personal basketball skills. He’s done more for the team than anyone else, as any good captain should. Kobori may not talk much, but he keeps the team solid, steady, and can provide a good voice of reason. Moriyama may seem like an idiot sometimes, but he never fails to deliver when it’s on the court. He’s flexible and unpredictable, and those are his strengths. Hayakawa keeps the energy up on the team — when spirits are down, you can count on him to lift everyone up again. No matter what, he’ll find a way to get done what needs to be done. Your team . . . it’s really a great mix.”

Kise slows. “Yeah? That so?”

“Mmhmm.” There are clouds in the sky. Right now, they’re covering the sun, but as the wind pushes them out of the way, the sun returns, its light burning through my eyes. I have to turn my face away.

“There’s also this ace,” I say. “I’m not so sure about him yet. He’s got some work cut out for him, but I think his potential . . .” For a moment, words fail me, and quiet hovers in the air. I can tell Kise is listening, waiting. I swallow, and force myself to continue. “His potential is probably off the charts.”

Kise suddenly stops and spins around to face me. He reaches forward, like he’s about to touch me, but then stops.

“Is that all?” he asks.

I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that.

“No,” I say. “He’s also kind of big-headed. Always pushing to know more about himself and how great he is. Gets kinda annoying sometimes. But, in the end, I suppose some of it is deserved.”

He grins. I let out a huff and move past him. I thought I’d taken a wide enough step — no, I’m sure I did. But I can feel him step in closer to me, so that when I pass, our shoulders brush.


	11. Chapter 11: Susumu

I have been too busy with studying to see Kasamatsu lately, but at my job, I hear Kise talking about the Inter-High preliminaries which have recently started. Lately, he seems to be talking more about the team’s potential to win, instead of just his own talent, and I wonder what’s changed. I smile at his enthusiasm, and thinking of Kasamatsu’s dedication, agree with him.

Today, I make effort to finish up my work as quickly as possible. I dart by the vending machine, grabbing Kasamatsu’s favorite drink and a snack for myself, then I practically run to the gym, my heavy books thumping against my back.

But when I enter the gym, Kasamatsu isn’t there. For a moment, I just stare at the empty court, wondering if he’s gone home early. Or to the bathroom. Or what on earth I should do.

Then I hear a slamming sound coming from the lockers, and I find my legs moving before I even consciously tell them to.

Kasamatsu is inside the locker room, sitting on one of the benches. His hands are in fists, his head bent over his knees.

“Kasamatsu-senpai?” I venture. I set my bag down on the floor, the drinks and snacks beside it. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he glances up, and I see a strange expression on his face.

“Oh. Nakahara-san. It’s you.”

“Yeah . . . are you all right? I thought you’d be practicing.”

“Right . . .” He glances toward the court, and a misty look glazes over his eyes. “I suppose I should. I need to . . .”

“Kasamatsu-senpai . . . I’ve always wanted to ask you about that, actually.”

“What?” His gaze sharpens and he straightens.

“Why you practice so hard every day. And why it never seems enough for you. You’re an excellent player. A great captain running a formidable team. Why isn’t it good enough?”

“I can’t . . .” His voice falters.

For a moment, disappointment floods through me, but then I force it down. “You . . . you don’t have to tell me. I understand. We’re . . . we’re not really even that close. It’s okay. I just . . . just wanted to ask.”

I turn to leave, picking up my bag and snack, but leaving his drink.

But he says, “Wait. Nakahara-san.”

I halt. Turn my body back to face his. He is looking at me now, more evenly than I’ve ever seen before.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll tell you. In truth, it was my fault. That we lost Inter-High last year. I fumbled a pass and let the other team win. Yet somehow I was made captain this year. I don’t understand why. But I have to find out . . . which is why . . . maybe that’s why I need to — to win. If I can just see what it’s like — to see victory, to grasp it with my own hands. Maybe I’ll understand.” He glances down at his own clenched fists, and shakes his head slightly, like he’s just talking nonsense.

“Kasamatsu-senpai,” I say softly. “You must be the only person who can’t see it.”

“See what?” Confusion covers his face.

“The reason why you were chosen, of course.” I give him a smile, and then I shift my grip on my things, and walk out of the room. 

To my surprise, he doesn’t let me leave alone. A few moments later, he tumbles out of the gym, his bag in hand, and races after me. “Nakahara-san! Wait up!”

It’s the first time he’s ever approached me, let alone call out to me. Pleasure fills me.

I slow my steps and he catches up quickly. “It’s — it’s getting late,” he huffs out. “You shouldn’t be walking by yourself.” I cast him a sideways look and see his usual flushed cheeks.

“I have a sister, you know,” I tell him. “If I wanted to, I could always walk home with her.”

“R-right. Nakahara-san.” His blush deepens, and for a moment, I don’t know if he’s referring to me or to her. But then he clarifies. “Nakahara Nyoko. Your sister, I mean. Her, yes. She’s in my class. She’s . . . smart.”

I blink. He’s stammering more than usual.

It takes me a moment to realize.

Kasamatsu must have a crush.

* * *

Kise seems more serious lately. When Abe-san and I visit him, watching his photo shoots (which Abe-san sometimes does), while he always put on a brilliant show, smiling like each and every photographer is his best friend, when the camera turns off his face reverts to something more thoughtful. Reflective. Like he is thinking about something far-off and unreachable.

One day, Abe-san has me flipping through photos he’s taken in the past few days when Kise walks past, just having finished a shoot.

“Hey, Nakaharacchi,” he says.

I smile, glancing up. “Hey, Kise-kun. What’s up?”

“Nothing, really.” He takes a seat next to me and glances at the photos. “Those are good.”

“Yeah. Abe-san really is talented.” Even if he is a bit of a mess. I shuffle the pictures together, straightening them, and set them aside. “Preliminaries are over, right? Of course, it was a given that you’d get through them. How do you feel about the actual Inter-High then? About the teams that will be a part of it?”

He falls silent, his features going oddly blank as he thinks. “It may . . . be tough,” he says.

I’m surprised by his words. Usually, he’s so confident in everything he does, even bordering on arrogant with his abilities. I’ve been brushing up on my basketball knowledge and I’ve learned that Kise is part of what’s called the Generation of Miracles. And apparently, nearly all of them will be playing at Inter-High. That must be what Kise means.

“We’re going to be facing Aominecchi next,” he says. “He . . .”

He doesn’t speak further, and I let it be, because I can’t even pretend to understand. To try would be an insult, and Kise would see right through it. So I let him sit beside me in silence, and let him think about his next match.


	12. Chapter 12: Eirin

The quarter-final approaches. Most of the time, Kise practices late with the whole team. I could easily walk home by myself, run away while he’s distracted. But for some reason, I find myself lingering by the gym doors, watching through the crack as they run drills and shoot hoops.

I remember when I first observed the Kaijou basketball team, per Kasamatsu’s request. Then, I thought that Kise would never be able to sync up with the other members. He was too . . . much for everyone else. Wherever he went, it became too bright for others to see. But now, something seems different. It’s like Kise’s become aware of his light — and also the light of others — and is working to match his up with his teammates. It’s somewhat amazing to watch, him going from selfish and arrogant, always hogging the ball and shooting for himself, to considering his team and thinking of what would be best for them.

Maybe my words actually had some effect on him. He’s now using his sunshine in a different way. A better way.

Kasamatsu becomes more and more tense as the match with Touou nears. I know he’s nervous about messing up again, and I wish I could comfort him somehow, but my words get stuck in my throat, and by the time I think of something halfway decent to say, he is already gone. Headed to his class. The gym. Somewhere. I have not been spending much time with him lately — I don’t know if that’s his fault or mine. Or maybe Kise’s.

Finally, the day of the match arrives. I travel there myself, both Kise and Kasamatsu having gone with their team hours before. When I reach the gymnasium, I have to swallow and close my eyes for a moment, letting myself soak everything in. The air, charged full of energy. The smell of the food from the snack stands. The sound of balls as the players warm up.

I find a seat just as the game starts. The tip-off sends a chill through my spine. It’s like I haven’t watched a real game in so long — and I miss it. I miss being on the court, feeling the ball thud through my hands. I miss it so much.

Kaijou takes the ball first, with Kise in possession, and then the game is off.

* * *

I have heard of the Generation of Miracles, of course. Any basketball fan has. Aomine Daiki, the ace of both the middle school team of Teikou, and now Touou, charges toward Kise. He is so strong — but I’ve seen Kise close up. Can he beat Kise’s style? It may be possible. Watching Aomine now, his movements so fluid, I can’t help but think that Kise may not have a chance.

I hate myself for it.

But Touou is strong.

Kise has only one option now. And he’s trying. I can tell he’s trying down there.

I have never seen him like this.

The crowd is shouting, for Kaijou or for Touou. I wonder if the teams can hear the cheers, or if they are so absorbed in the game that they are blocking everything else out.

Kise is breathing hard. He’s clutching the ball like a lifeline. Staring at Aomine, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. He knows what’s at stake here: he’s the only thing keeping Kaijou from defeat. At one point of time, I would’ve remarked on how big-headed that thought would make him.

But it’s true. Kise, with his quick smiles, his equal skill with the ball and the words that trip me up, has everything hanging on his shoulders. He knows it, too, and that must be why he’s trying so hard.

Because somehow, he’s become a part of the team. And he wants to win — not just by himself. But with them. With Kasamatsu, with Kobori, with Moriyama, and with Hayakawa.

And perhaps, he doesn’t just think of himself as Kise Ryouta, a famous model, a charmer and flirt, but Kise, Kaijou first-year.

That must be why he puts everything into this game. He manages to copy Aomine Daiki, and they go into a fierce battle, using the exact same moves. But I can tell that it’s wearing on Kise. He has to constantly watch Aomine, cataloguing new moves, and channeling them through his own body.

I can tell. He is doing everything he can. But it’s not enough.

Kise makes a split-second decision and he passes to Kasamatsu, but Aomine foresees it, and is too quick. And with that, Kaijou’s defeat is sealed. 

But . . .

“Don’t stop,” I find myself whispering. Whether it’s to Kasamatsu, my best friend, or Kise . . . I don’t know. “Don’t stop.” I say it, again and again. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

And Kise gets up again, and they play their hardest. But we still lose, 98-110.

It’s too much for Kise, who has worked harder than ever. His legs are weak underneath him, and he can’t stand. He punches the ground in frustration, and tries again, but I can see him trembling.

Before I know it, I’m standing, and I’ve moved out of the stands. My pace quickens — and then I’m running. Running down to . . . where?

I slow. And I realize that my blood is pumping through my veins, that my leg is aching with a phantom pain. Am I running away from something? Or am I running toward something — someone?

“What am I even thinking?” I whisper to myself, shaking my head. “I can’t even get onto the court. Or the locker rooms. He . . . he won’t even be out for a while.”

I know it myself, after all. Even if I were to wait for him, even if I were to go to him . . . nothing would come out of it. I am not a person to lend words of comfort. While he’s made effort toward me, while he’s walked me home several times and chattered non-stop . . . I’ve done nothing.

And now I’m thinking that I can just walk up to him, just talk to him and tell him the thoughts that are running through my head? It’s stupid.

Kise wouldn’t want that, after all. He wouldn’t want false sympathies, forced words of comfort. And so, until I can give him nothing but the truth . . .

I turn, and leave the building.


	13. Chapter 13: Susumu

I arrive at the match late. I’d gotten lost again, and by the time I finally found the gym, I was panicking, thinking that the game must’ve already ended. But I’d managed to make it in time for the start of the second quarter, which I suppose I should be grateful for, even though I didn’t want to miss any of it.

The game seems to fly by so quickly. I don’t even know if I understand half of it, but I do know one thing: Kaijou is amazing. And they all try their best, but in the end, it’s not enough. Touou secures the win.

I cry. I don’t know how or when this team became so close to me, but I feel the tears slipping down my cheeks as Kise tries — and fails — to stand up. Near me, a girl stands up abruptly, like she doesn’t want to watch some weak player. _He_ _’s not weak,_ I want to tell her. _None of them are weak._ But she races out of the stands before I can say anything.

Kasamatsu approaches Kise and offers him a hand. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but then Kasamatsu lifts Kise up, and guides him to the line-up. There’s the ring of their voices as they give thanks for the game, and I’m fairly certain everyone can see the shine of tears on Kise’s face, but all I’m thinking about is how Kasamatsu barks at his team to keep their heads up. It’s not the end. They are still a great team.

Tears sting my eyes again, and I stand up with the rest of the people around me. They talk about how it was a great match, full of suspense. But they don’t know the half of it. They don’t know why Kise played so hard or why Kasamatsu wanted to win so badly. They don’t know anything.

I wait out in the halls for Kaijou, but when I hear the team approaching, Kasamatsu isn’t with them.

Kise looks exhausted, but at the sight of me, he brightens a little. “Nakahara-san?”

“You guys all did great,” I say, smiling at them. They nod at me in return, still dejected from their loss. “Where’s your captain?”

“Oh, Kasamatsu-senpai?” Kise glances back. “He’s still in the lockers. Told us to go on ahead. Are you —?”

I don’t wait for him to answer, but charge past him and in the direction of the lockers. I’m not entirely sure where they are, but after a little searching, I find the room that’s marked for Kaijou.

For a moment, I hesitate. It’s entirely possible Kasamatsu has already left in the time I spent searching for this place. But as I near the door, I hear a noise from within . . . crying.

I lean against the wall next to the door, and for a few moments, I just listen to him sob. I almost feel like I’m invading his privacy — I probably am, actually. But on the other hand, I don’t want him to be alone at a time like this.

Eventually, the noise recedes, and there is quiet. I shift, then gently nudge the door open. It’s dark in the room, and Kasamatsu is slumped on the bench, facing away from me, his head in his hands.

“Kise?” he says, turning slightly.

“No,” I say softly. “It’s me.”

He jumps, knocking over a water bottle, and whirls around to face me. “Nakahara-san. What are you doing here?”

I flip on the light switch. “I ran into the team. Kise told me you were still back here. I wanted to . . .”

To what?

“We lost,” he says, and his voice is bitter. “There is nothing you can say about that.”

Anger suddenly rushes through me and I rush toward him. He takes a step back, surprised, and his back slams into the locker. I am close to him in seconds, just a few inches away. We’ve never been this close, not even when we’re practicing and he’s showing me how to handle the ball properly.

I point my finger at him, like I’m accusing him of something, and I say, “You may have lost this game, but there’s actually a lot more that you’ve gained. Isn’t there? You have a wonderful team that you can be proud of. Just think about that. Think about the team that _you_ _’ve_ crafted and built up and created to be strong. It’s all yours.”

“That’s just the thing, though, isn’t it?” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Because of that . . . because they are my responsibility . . . it’s all my fault.”

I slam my hand onto the locker, right near his head, and he jumps. “Are you deaf?” I’m almost yelling, and my words are harsher than I mean, but I want him to see this. I _need_ him to see this. “This is your team! They are your players as much as you are their captain! They own you as much as you own them. No one’s at fault — if anything, you all are. Because you’re a team, you share everything. No one person can say they have all the responsibility, that they carry everything on their shoulders, because that’s what a team is. It’s when a group of people get together and become one unit. It’s when you don’t have to just rely on yourself, but can look to another and trust them. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Kasamatsu-senpai?”

His eyes are wide and shocked at my voice, which leaks emotion, more than I’d intended. I drop my hand to my side and step away. No doubt I’ve scared him. But as I turn to leave, having said what I needed, he says, “You’re right.”

I turn, and give him a smile, but my eyes are watery. “Of course I am.”

“H-hey — Nakahara-san? Are you — are you crying?” He’s by my side in an instant, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s concerned about me.

“I . . . I really don’t know why. It was you guys who played so hard. It shouldn’t be me who’s upset. I don’t have anything to do with it.” I swipe at my eyes. “But I just . . . wanted you to know. To rely on your team as much as they rely on you. And now that that’s out, I guess I’m happy.”

He frowns. “Are you saying you’re crying from happiness?”

I let out a small laugh. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I turn to face him, and in the dull light, I can clearly see his steel gray eyes staring back into mine. For a moment, nothing happens. And we just look at each other.

Then his face reddens as he realizes what he’s doing, and he jumps away. I laugh again, and then I reach forward and grab his hand. “Nakahara-san — w-what are you doing?”

I have never touched him — or anyone, for that matter — like this, but there’s a first time for anything. And I don’t think I’ll ever mind sharing a first with Kasamatsu.

I pull his hand toward me, and then the rest of his body. I think he might resist, but he’s oddly pliant, and when I throw my arms around him, grinning as I hug him tight, he doesn’t pull away. He smells of sweat, but underneath I can sense the cologne that I’ve smelled the past few times when we’ve practiced. I breathe it in and duck my head onto his shoulder. He gasps, but after a few moments, he tentatively holds me as well.


	14. Eirin

_Part 2_

* * *

_****Chapter 14: Eirin_

* * *

Summer break begins and with it, my mother’s endless complaints. After coming home for work, she immediately calls me and Masuhiro to the living room, where she’ll lecture us on proper decorum and whatnot. Masuhiro will listen dutifully, but I always find it difficult to concentrate.

I don’t care that we’re a prominent family or whatever that junk is. And she knows that, too. She knows where my attention lies (that is, basically nowhere), which is why she’s now put all her focus onto Masuhiro, into making him the main family poster child. I guess I should be grateful, since I now get out of most things. But still. Mom seems to expect nothing of me, especially after what happened in middle school.

“Eirin.” Her voice is sharp as usual as she stalks into the dining hall for breakfast. “What are you doing later today?”

“I am not doing anything,” I say through bites of toast. I’m never doing anything, really. Because as she so kindly pointed out, I have no friends. Not after that one terrible incident.

“Good. We’re going shopping this afternoon after I get off work.”

“Huh. Why?”

“There’s a grand party coming up soon. We’ve all been invited.”

“I don’t go to those things usually, though.” Because I usually end up embarrassing our family name.

“I know that, but you should be taking up some responsibility. You’re in high school, after all. Besides, some people have been asking about you. I thought this might be a good opportunity to get you out into a social situation.”

“But —”

“No arguing. We’ll get you something nice to wear today, and go over your etiquette later.”

I sigh, and slump back into my chair. Masuhiro, who was late in getting up, stumbles into the room, and finds his seat. Mom immediately begins to tell him about the party, and the kid actually looks _excited_ about it.

Sometimes, I don’t know how we’re related.

* * *

Mom drags me to all the high-grade stores in the city. My taste is starkly different from hers, so we end up arguing at every turn, making it quite hard to pick something out. Honestly, if she just handed me a chunk of money, I could’ve found something decent (she taught me _that_ much, at least), but she still thinks I’m a kid who can’t pick out my own clothes.

We enter another department store, this one filled with a variety of fancy suits and dresses that are way out of my league. Mom fawns over them, talking with the assistant about the latest styles and whatnot, while I just wrinkle my nose at all the sparkles.

I move around the aisles, fingering a few dresses here and there, though I’m hardly interested in them. As I reach the end of the store, I sigh, wondering how long this day will last.

“Ichikawa-san, I never thought I’d find you here.”

I whirl around, my hand leaving the smooth texture of a silk dress. Kise Ryouta himself stands before me, a smirk on his face, his hair swept effortlessly over his forehead like usual. (Out of all the people who could’ve caught me shopping for clothes, why did it have to be a model? And _Kise_? I swear, my life.)

“What are _you_ doing here?” I challenge him.

“That should be my line.”

Oh my goodness. I immediately take a large step away from the rack of dresses. I’ve been trying to hide the fact that I’m well-off from Kise, with not-so-positive results. He insists tailing me home as far as possible, and I’m forced to come up with increasingly more creative ways to get rid of him. (You’d think he’d be insulted about being constantly abandoned, but he’ll just approach me the next day, all smiles, like I hadn’t left him stranded in the bookstore while he was fanboying over his own magazine.)

But this is a designer store. Only people with a boatload of money (me) or people with considerable fashion taste and ego (Kise) would dare set foot in here.

Kise’s smirk widens as he uncovers this clue. “You know, I’ve never seen your place before, Ichikawa-san,” he says, his eyes glittering innocently.

I’m unable to think of a response.

“I’ve been wondering why you keep avoiding the topic. But maybe . . .” He waves his hand at the store.

I cringe.

He observes me for a moment, but instead of continuing to make further implications about my family’s income, he pointedly changes the subject. “But more importantly, now that we’re together, what do you say about getting a bite to eat? Or are you busy?” He glances at the dress I was fingering. “Were you looking for something in particular? I could help you.”

I blink in surprise and swallow. Then I suddenly feel bad. While I was here worrying about my own reputation, Kise’s still been dealing with his loss against Touou. I haven’t seen since the game, so I’ve been unable to ask him about it. Now, though, any comfort I might offer would seem forced. He seems to have cheered up from the loss, though. Or maybe he’s just putting on a front. I can never tell with him.

He, though, seems to be able to read me like a book.

I square my shoulders and stare him in the eyes. “First off, just because you ran into me does not mean that we’re ‘now together.’ Secondly, why would I ever ask for your help?”

“Always so harsh.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair — messing it up in a way that makes it look better, not worse. I’m sure he’s been taught how to do that in his modeling classes. Or something like that. Perhaps it’s just his natural charm.

Not that he has any.

“I am a model,” he says. “I do know the latest fashion.”

“So?”

“C’mon, Ichikawa-san.” He almost sounds begging.

I turn on my heel then and begin to walk as swiftly as I can to the nearest exit. I’ll catch up with Mom later. Right now, I just need to get rid of Kise. As expected, he trails after me, babbling about random things I don’t really care about and make the most effort to tune out. As we near an elevator, some people filing off and heading to their own destinations in the store, I slip into the lift before the doors close — I’m kind of hoping that he gets locked out, but with his quick sports reflexes, he manages to dart in with me. Oh, well.

“Say, Ichikawa-san,” he continues, oblivious to my scowl, “what’s your favorite type of ice cream? Is it chocolate? That’s what you got last time. There’s this nice place right outside. I could treat you to some, if you like.”

How many ice cream stores does he go to? 

I roll my eyes slightly, but he doesn’t notice.

Just then, there’s a grinding noise — the elevator shakes. My hand flies out for purchase and grabs onto —

Oh. 

The nearest thing had, of course, been Kise.

He blinks, falling silent for the first time since we’d run into each other. I never initiate contact between us, and even as a last resort, it’s . . . strange.

My cheeks flush. I let go of his sleeve and move away from him. He doesn’t say a word, but then elevator shakes again, and the lights go out. For a few moments, all I can hear are our quick breaths.

I am frozen.

But he . . . he shifts toward me, closing the distance I’d just put between us. He takes both of my hands in his, and holds them up. In the dark, I can’t see — I can’t see anything.

I can only feel his skin against mine — hot and warm, soft and gentle.

And that scares me more than anything.

“Please —” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “Please don’t touch me. Please . . . let go.”

His hands immediately drop from mine. “I — I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You . . . you don’t like that sort of stuff, do you?”

  I turn away from him and hunch my shoulders, dearly hoping that I won’t be stuck in here with him for forever. The next few minutes pass in silence, and finally, the elevator begins to work again. Somehow, we end up back at the same clothing store. Mom hasn’t even noticed that I went missing, still chatting with the assistant and holding up some tiny dress that I am never ever going to wear.

Kise follows me out of the elevator once again, though he’s quieter this time. Finally, he says, “Are you looking for a dress?”

I almost ask him how he knows, but realize it must’ve been obvious (I mean, half of the store is dresses). I say, “I am, actually. Is that surprising?”

He cocks his head at me. Then his hand darts out and pulls a tip of a dress out. “You’d look good in this,” he says. With that, he lets the dress fall back amongst all the others, and leaves.

Despite myself, I look at the one he picked out, and bring it to my mom.

 

 


	15. Susumu

Something must be wrong with me. I can’t concentrate anymore. When I try to study, my head swims and my thoughts swirl within my mind. When I try to take photos, my hand trembles, my fingers shaking when I try to change the focus.

I can’t think straight anymore at all.

Ever since . . .

“Nakahara-san, is there something wrong?”

I jolt and nearly drop my camera. Abe-san is sitting on a chair backwards, his arms draped over the back, his eyes inquisitive as he inspects me. I jerk my head back and forth. “N-no. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You have been quieter than usual,” he says, rocking the chair back and forth. “Like you’re off dreaming about something.”

Dreaming? About what?

“Your work remains good, of course,” he continues. “But if there’s something wrong . . .”

“Nothing’s wrong!” I say, and my voice comes out a little high-pitched. “I mean, just school and studying and basketball —”

I stop abruptly.

He glances at me strangely, then his eyes light up, like he’s just thought of something. “Basketball, huh? Then both you and Kise-kun are interested in several of the same things, then. That’s always nice. All right, then. I’ll let you off the hook for today, but if you ever need to talk about something, though, don’t hesitate. I may be your boss, but I’m great at listening, too.” He winks.

“R-right. Thank you.”

I wonder what Abe-san thought of as he walks away, smiling to himself and rubbing his chin. What does he suppose is wrong with me?

I don’t even know myself.

* * *

"Nyoko, it’s imperative that you get this work done on time.”

When I return home from work, I see that Mom and Dad have cornered my sister in the kitchen. Nyoko is dressed up again, her make-up highlighting how wide her gaze is. My parents are still in their business suits; dinner has yet to be started even though we usually have a strict meal time.

“I — I know!” my sister squeaks. “It’s summer, though. I’ll get it done in no time, I promise.”

“The college you’re aiming to get into is very prestigious,” Mom says, rubbing her neck in a tired way. “There must be no room for error. You can’t slack off like you’ve been doing.”

I slow my steps as I near them. Nyoko glances up at the sound of my feet and pales, before bowing quickly to my parents, and rushing out of the room.

My sister? Slacking? It’s true that maybe she’s been hanging out with her friends a little more than usual, but she’s never been a slacker. And her grades have still been top-notch. I know that for a fact. We go over our tests together sometimes.

“Susumu.” Mom motions me into the kitchen. “Good. You’re home.”

Dad takes out a glass and fills it with water before handing it to me. “How was work?” he asks. “I still don’t know if it was the right decision to let you accept that job or not.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” I say. “I don’t work that often. And I’m still getting good grades.”

Not as good as Nyoko’s, but acceptable. Both my parents look skeptical, but they say nothing further.

Our parents have always pushed us to be the best we can . . . and it’s only gotten worse since Hideo. Our parents pushed him just a bit too hard . . . and he couldn’t handle it. Our brother took off and decided to pursue the musical career he always dreamed of instead of going to college and getting a steady job. Mom and Dad were furious, and they cut ties with him. Ever since then, Nyoko and I have had to tread carefully.

Sometimes, I understand. They think Hideo will fail someday, that he’ll get into trouble, and he’ll be living on scraps without a good career to fall back onto. And in a way, I understand that. But they also think that Hideo is a failure, and I don’t believe that. And they just . . . don’t understand. The reason why he left.

* * *

I miss basketball. I miss the gym and the team. I miss Kasamatsu.

If I’m really truthful with myself, that may be why I can’t do anything this summer. Because I’m filled with many unnecessary thoughts . . . thoughts of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes and the feeling of Kasamatsu’s arms around me. . . .

Nyoko has disappeared to her room for the night. She didn’t even appear for dinner, which meant I became the sole receiver for my parents’ lectures. After a good half hour of listening to the benefits of being studious and attentive, I don’t go to my room — instead I leave the apartment.

For a moment, I just stand outside the door of 219 and lean against the wood, breathing in the night air. Then I hear someone playing the guitar. It reminds me of a night a long time ago, when I joined in with my singing. The strumming of the instrument flows up, twining with the wind, and I let my voice unite with it. I haven’t sung in a while, too distracted with school and basketball and work. But as I sing, my vocal cords warming up, I can feel my body relaxing, the shaking in my hands stopping.

The guitar stops abruptly. 

My voice falters. Did they hear me?

I hear a door open a few yards down and then Kasamatsu emerges, staring at me. He’s holding a guitar.

“That was you?”  I blurt out.

He continues staring at me. Then, “My little brothers were being crazy inside. I couldn’t play in peace so I came out to the balcony . . . and then I heard you. Singing.”

For a second, I let his words sink in. All I can think to say is, “You have brothers?” _How did I not know that?_

He nods.

“You have to let me meet them sometime,” I gush.

Little Kasamatsus. How cute.

He blushes.

Before I know it, I close the distance between us, grab his hand, and then I’m pulling him down the stairs of the apartment complex.

“N-Nakahara-san — what are you doing?”

“Let’s go somewhere,” I tell him, feeling breathless. “Let’s go somewhere. And let’s create some music.”


	16. Eirin

I haven’t been to a party like this in ages.

As I stare around at all the huge and vibrant decorations and take in the sights of the people swarming around, their clothes a mass of brightly colored fabrics, I wonder why in the world I’m here. It’s clear that this night is going to end in disaster. Places like this aren’t meant for people like me, a girl with ruined relationships and broken dreams.

I finger the dress that Kise had picked out for me. When I’d shown it to Mom, she’d immediately loved it and had actually complimented my taste. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that a famous model had chosen it. But I have to admit, for a boy, he does have good taste. And it fits me surprisingly well. The dress is pale teal, made from a light airy material. Unlike most of the flashy outfits Mom was picking out for me, this one is fairly simple, its only decoration being a collar of silver around the neckline. Mom paired it with matching silver heels and then a flower clip to hold my hair up that is (you guessed it) silver as well. I also have silver bangles around my wrists.

Mom guides me and Masuhiro through the thickets of people and past the tables piled high with snacks and sweets. Every so often, she’ll stop and introduce us to some of her friends, and I struggle to remember their names and faces (and end up failing horribly). Masuhiro is the perfect picture of an ideal child, with his posture straight, his smile genuine, and the words he chooses just right. Meanwhile, I stumble in my heels and Mom has to keep reminding me to keep a smile pasted on my face. It might be better if I didn’t smile at all, though. Right now, I think mine kind of looks like I’m being tortured.

I see him immediately, like my gaze is drawn to him like a magnet. It seems like he’s just arrived, and he’s standing with an older lady who pats his arm in a mother-like way, though I don’t suspect they’re actually related.

For some reason, I can’t keep my gaze off of him. He’s wearing a suit, one that I suspect is from the very store that I bought this dress from. And it looks . . . _good_ on him. Really good. His hair has been styled and slicked back, and his eyes look more prominent tonight, the golden irises brighter than all the shining chandeliers in this room.

As if my gaze is heavy on him, he turns. Sees me. And smiles and waves. 

My mouth drops open, and then I’m striding across the room toward him. What is he thinking? Just being so casual? The nerve of him! What is he even doing here in the first place?

I must be walking at too quick a pace, though, and I’m still not used to these stupid heels.

I trip spectacularly straight into Kise’s arms. He catches me in one smooth motion, and when I glance up, my cheeks burning, I catch the smirk on his face.

“Nice dress, Ichikawa-san,” he says.

Well, there’s no hiding my status now.

For some reason, I don’t really care anymore.

I straighten myself, ignoring the pain in my leg. “Do you always show up to ruin people’s days?” I ask.

“Ouch. And here I thought you might enjoy seeing me.”

I’m about to deny that, but when I open my mouth, I find that I can’t say anything at all. He just smiles at my gaping, and then he runs his hand through my hair — to the silver flower pin, which he unclips in one fluid movement. I must look like a fish, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open, as my hair tumbles down around my shoulders.

“Here,” he says, and then he gently takes a single lock of my hair and pins it back with the clip. “It looks better that way.”

I’m still staring at him, and as he finishes messing with my hair, he glances back at me. He seems to finally register my glare, and has the sense to not say or do anything else stupid.

 “You are in trouble,” I hiss at him, and then I grab his arm — with his stupid perfectly ironed sleeves — and I drag him out of the room.

He is laughing by the time we’ve reached the outside, a large patio overlooking a small garden. The night breeze is cool, opposite of the crowded warmth inside. I have to take several deep breaths before I can face him. He is looking at me, his eyes light, and I get the strange idea that he’s just looking at me because he enjoys doing so.

“What am I in trouble for, Ichikawa-san?” he says, his voice teasing.

“You just —  you just —”

He cocks his head. “Messed with your hair a bit? Yeah, I did that.”

“Do you know how long I had to sit to get it that way? The stylist pulled my head this way and that and it hurt so bad!”

He grins. “That’s why you should’ve done it my way in the first place.”

“Well, I didn’t have your advice at the time,” I snap at him.

“Ah, so you wanted it?”

I glare at him, realizing my mistake.

He hums to himself, then says, “It really does look nice on you. The dress. I always wanted to see you all dressed up.”

I ponder his words for a moment. It is strange, the amount of thought that Kise has put into me. He didn’t pick out something flashy like my mom would’ve — and didn’t pick out something dark and dreary like I would’ve. Yet he chose something that managed to please all parties and that simply fits me.

I wonder, has he really been watching me that much?

“Ugh.” I rub my head.

“Something wrong, Ichikawa-san?”

“Yes. Everything’s wrong. You’re — you —” I tug at my hair.

“If you want to get back at me for messing with your hair, I’ll allow you.”

“You’ll allow me?” I let out a harsh laugh.

But then, I decide I’ll take the opportunity, because even I’d be lying to myself if I said I never wanted to do this.

I reach forward and almost like it’s out of habit, he bends toward me, his eyes expectant. I don’t know what he thinks I’ll do, but his eyes widen when I run my hands through his hair, effectively messing up his hairstyle. It’s always driven me crazy, how it always looks so perfect all the time. And I’ve always kinda wanted to know what his hair felt like.

It’s nice.

I let my hands run through his hair for a good long time, probably longer than I need to. His eyes study me while I do before they eventually close. Then his own hand reaches up to grab my wrist. I think he’s going to move my hand away, but he just holds it there. And I realize: he’s not moving me away; he’s keeping me in place.

My heart suddenly speeds up. What am I doing? _What am I doing?_

I jerk my hands away, and Kise’s eyes snap open. “Ichikawa-san?” His hair spills across his forehead. I should be pleased to see that I’ve effectively messed it up, that the strands are sticking up all over the place (and that even so, he still looks hot, ugh).

But instead, all I can feel is a strange sort of emotion that I can’t identify. I back away, my wrist burning from his touch.

“Ichikawa-san,” he starts. “I — I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He is wrong. He is so wrong.

It’s not him. It’s never been him. Because, after all, he’s only ever done things for me. This is . . . all on me.

“I — I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m sorry you lost your match. I’m sorry I never said anything to you about it. I’m sorry . . . I’m not good at any of this.”

His face goes blank for a second. Then, he says, “That doesn’t matter. What are you talking about? That doesn’t matter. I just . . .”

I have to turn away then, because I can’t look at him.

He’s the only thing in my vision, and I can’t see clearly anymore. I’ve been blinded . . . but, maybe, if it’s because of him, it’s not really a bad thing.


	17. Susumu

Second-term begins quietly, a smooth transition from summer to school and studying once again. Of course, for Nyoko and me, we are always studying, it seems.

I visit the gym the very first day of second-term — despite the fact that I’d promised Mom I’d make the library my second home and snag first-place in mid-terms, I just can’t help it. I’ve missed the gym in the last few weeks, and I’ve missed watching Kasamatsu and Kise practice.

When I enter the gymnasium, the players are already drenched in sweat, their focus blazing. It’s clear that after their loss at Inter-High they’re all ready to work as hard as they can for their next match. Kasamatsu is yelling at some first-years, and perfecting their techniques. I smile as I watch Kise approach him, then get a punch in the side for interrupting. Things haven’t changed, it seems, even after such a large defeat. I am glad.

As I go to sit on one of the benches to watch, I see that there is another girl there. She has dark hair and large blue eyes that stare into me as I sit down beside her. She seems vaguely familiar — and I finally place her as the girl who’d stood up and left during the match against Touou.

“You go here?” I exclaim.

“Who are you?” she asks, and her voice seems apathetic, like she is only asking out of politeness’ sake, even though the way she said it wasn’t very polite at all. Without waiting for my answer, she turns her gaze back to the players. Specifically, I note, Kise. Is she one of his fangirls? It seems kind of unusual. He usually attracts more bubbly and . . . well, girly types.

“Nakahara Susumu,” I say, and I offer her my hand. “I’m a friend of Kise-kun’s and Kasamatsu-senpai’s.”

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes widening. “You know Yukio?” she says.

I’m taken aback by the overly familiar way she uses his name. “Y-yeah. We sometimes practice basketball together.”

“Hm. He’s never mentioned it.” She shrugs to herself, like she really doesn’t care either way.

“How do you know him?” I ask.

“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” she says.

I almost breathe out a sigh of relief. I didn’t really expect her to say they were dating — especially not when she seems to only be looking at Kise. And also the fact that I can’t really imagine Kasamatsu dating anyone. But still, I find myself breathing a little easier for some reason.

“I’m Ichikawa Eirin,” she finally says. “First-year. You’re . . . second-year, yeah?”

I nod and clasp my hands together. “That’s right.”

I wait for her to say something else, but she remains quiet. I wonder if she even realizes she’s staring so hard at Kise. But as my own eyes follow her gaze, I realize there may be a reason why. Kise’s movements seem . . . slower today. More deliberate. Like he’s being extra careful with how he places his feet.

“What’s wrong with him?” I wonder to myself.

To my surprise, she answers. “He hurt his ankle. In the match.”

Suddenly, I remember. Him unable to get up. The way he’d battled so fiercely against Aomine. It’s no wonder. How didn’t I see it before?

The girl stands up, and there’s something close to a scowl on her face. “He’s an idiot,” she says, and then she whips around and leaves.

Just as she disappears from the gym, Kise looks up. I almost tell him that she was here, that she’s concerned about him, but I decide against it. I don’t know that girl, but I’m pretty sure she’d be mad at me for saying such a thing.

* * *

Practice seems to fly by. I’d brought most of my books with me in case I wanted to study while they worked, but I find myself just watching them, entranced. The team hardly notices me, so involved in their work, and by the time practice is over, I catch several of them shooting me surprised glances, like they’d just realized I was there.

“Nakahara-san.”

It’s Kasamatsu. He, for once, doesn’t actually seem surprised to see me. There’s a towel slung around his shoulders, and he uses it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. For some reason, I want to approach him and help him clean up myself. I find myself not caring at all that he might smell of sweat and boys’ lockers.

“Kasamatsu-senpai,” I say, nodding my head at him.

He sits down next to me, and I’m surprised by the little distance between us. Before, there would at least be a yard or two. Now, if I wanted to, I could just move a few inches, and we’d be touching. My cheeks burn when I realize how much I’m tempted by the thought.

What am I even thinking?

“You didn’t touch your drink the entire time,” he says, and he nods at the water bottle at my feet.

I start, and nearly knock over the drink in question with my foot. I’d bought it in habit, planning to bring it to Kasamatsu, and had set it down beside me and forgotten all about it. But the fact that he’d noticed it . . . meant that he noticed me. And even though he didn’t greet me when I first came in, he still looked at me long enough to see the water bottle.

I pick up the bottle and hand it to him. “It’s not for me,” I say. “It’s for you.”

He blinks a few times. “Oh. Thank you.” He accepts it and unscrews the cap before gulping down the liquid. “Thank you,” he says again.

I smile, and this time, I do bump my shoulder into his — just a moment, a small touch. He nearly falls off the bench and spills his drink. Apparently, he is not _that_ comfortable with me yet.

But slowly, slowly, I’m seeing a difference. And it makes my skin hot and my heart thump.


	18. Eirin

My room is much larger than it needs to be. There is too much space, too much emptiness that I can’t fill, and at night, too much darkness that I can’t disperse.

The bed is built for two people, which makes me wonder why I am the only one sleeping in it. I am just one person. So shouldn’t I just have a one-person bed? I cannot possibly take up all the space on this gigantic mattress — and if I try, it only makes me think of what I am missing.

When I was little, I used to ask my dad to come and sleep in my bed with me. I had terrible nightmares, and he was the only one who could dispel them. He’d oblige with a grin that could light up any darkness, and climb into bed beside me. With him there me, the bed would suddenly feel full and just right.

But now, he’s not here anymore. And I’m left alone in a bed too big for me.

* * *

I am falling asleep when the phone rings. After hours of turning and twisting in the much-too-large bed, my eyes finally began to lower, my mind calming — and then my phone lights up and begins buzzing.

I nearly throw it across the room. But instead I flip it open and answer with a growl. “Who on earth thinks that now is a decent time to call a person?”

“Well, I know I’ve got the right number now.”

I extend the phone from my ear and stare at the number showing on my screen for a moment. Then I press it back to my ear and say, “Kise?”

“Yeah. How ya doing, Ichikawa-san?”

“Tired.”

He laughs, and I can hear his breath resounding against the speakers of the phone. I clutch the phone tighter. “Ichikawa-san, do you get grumpy when you’re sleepy?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Why are you calling me anyway? Do you even know what time it is?”

“Uh, last I checked, after midnight or something?”

“Nice try. It’s about one thirty-three.”

“That’s after midnight.”

I sigh and decide not to argue with him. “Answer my other question. Why are you calling?”

“Why not?” He sounds confused. “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to hear your voice.”

I am stumped. I am fairly certain no one has ever called me at one thirty-three at night just because they wanted to hear my voice. This boy really is something. (Not that I’ll ever tell him that.)

“Ichikawa-san? Are you still there?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“Good.” I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s talk about something.”

“Talk about what?”

“I don’t know. Anything you want to. Tell me about yourself. I barely know anything about you.”

“Maybe because you always talk so much that no one else can get a word in edgewise,” I say.

“So mean! C’mon, I’m not like that.”

“Fine. But there’s really nothing interesting about me. Haven’t you figured that out already?”

“I disagree, Ichikawa-san. After all, you returned my photo.”

“Are you still harping on that? That was nothing.”

“You wore the dress I picked out for you.”

“I would’ve found that dress anyway. You just saved me some time.”

“Full of excuses, aren’t you?”

I pause and don’t reply, because he is right. He always seems to be.

“And even though I keep trying, you just won’t smile for me! Someone who can resist me is a very interesting person indeed.”

“Kise,” I say. “Are you really big-headed or what?”

He begins to laugh again. Once more, I have to hold the phone away from me. Not because I can’t stand his laughter — but because I am finding that I am becoming oddly attracted to it, and that’s a very bad thing indeed. If he keeps up at it, I might do something really bad. Like intentionally saying things to get him to laugh. And that’s not good at all. Not at all.

“Anyway, Kise,” I say. “It actually may be a good thing you called, because there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Really? What?”

“Your foot. You hurt it in the match, didn’t you?”

The other end of the line is suddenly quiet. “You noticed?” he finally says.

“Duh, I noticed. I’m sure everyone did.”

“I . . . it’s not that bad. I’m sure it will heal up soon.”

A burst of anger runs through me. “You should have it looked at. Even if it’s just the school nurse — I don’t care. Just someone. But don’t just ignore it. If something happens —”

“Are you actually concerned about me, Ichikawa-san?” Even though the words are teasing, his tone is serious.

I could play it off like I usually do, but the throb in my leg flares, and so does my anger. _“Yes,”_ I say, and I can hear the intake of his breath at the vehemence of my reply. “Yes, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. I don’t want this to ruin your career. You worked too hard at practice today. If you continue this, something serious could happen, and —”

“Thank you.” His voice is soft, and whatever else I was going to say vanishes from my mind. “Thank you, Ichikawa-san. I understand. You . . . have thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

I want to scream at him. Part of me wants to tell him everything. But instead, I just say, my voice flat, “Yes. I have.”

“Thank you,” he says again. “I’ll think about it as well, then. Good night. Sleep well.”

And then he hangs up.


	19. Susumu

Sometimes, you can still tell that Kaijou’s loss hit them hard. Most of the first-years and second-years have gotten past it by now, but the third-years who worked so hard for that tournament — and failed — are still beating themselves up over their defeat. Of course, it’s not their fault. But you can tell from the subtle ways they move in practice, grimacing and berating themselves whenever they make even the smallest mistakes.

Kasamatsu looks to be affected the least — but I’m fairly certain that’s all a front. He has to show how strong he is in front of his team, to keep them all in good spirits, to keep their motivations up. But sometimes, when it’s just me and him, I’ll see him with an oddly serious expression on his face — or sometimes he’ll seem even more distracted than usual during our walks home. I hear him playing the guitar on his balcony a lot as well — now that I’m listening and that I know it’s him, it always seems like the tunes are melancholy.

I feel like I need to do something to cheer him up. But what exactly? Whenever my mind tries to think of things to do with him, all my coherent thoughts run away — I’m left with nothing.

Finally, on a Friday, after we’ve finished passing the ball back and forth a few times, and  he then goes to make some shots by himself, an idea strikes me. I wait for him to finish his individual practice, and after cooling off, we begin our walk home.

“So, Kasamatsu-senpai,” I start.

“Hm?” He’s staring at something off in the distance — but not something specific, I think. Maybe something only he himself can see.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” He frowns and glances at me for what might be the first time this day. “No . . . I don’t think so. Why?”

I hold out my hand to him. “Come with me.”

“Come with you?”

I pull back my hand, realizing how that’d sounded. My cheeks flush. “Well, I mean, not now. But come with me tomorrow. To my work.”

“Your work?” He still looks perplexed, like the idea hasn’t sunk in with him yet. “Where do you work again?”

“With Kise-kun,” I remind him. “Well, not _with_ Kise. I’m no model.” I let out a laugh. “But where Kise-kun works. I work for a photographer there. He has me doing odd jobs for him like sorting through his photos, organizing his room, and I get to shadow him for photography experiences.”

“Oh. Right.” It still doesn’t appear like he understands what I’m offering.

“Anyway,” I persist, “tomorrow, there’re going to be a lot of hot-shot models there apparently. And Abe-san — my boss, that is — says it’ll be a great experience. It’ll almost be like a party, he says. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came along. It would be really fun to have you.”

“I don’t think —” His cheeks are finally starting to heat up, something I expected sometime long ago.

“It’ll be fine,” I insist. “Abe-san is really easy-going, and he loves meeting new people. And I’m sure Kise-kun will be happy to see you there.”

“But I’m not really into photography or any of those things . . . “

“So what? You’ll be hanging out with friends, right? Doesn’t that make anything fun?”

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open slightly. Does the fact that I just referred to myself as his friend make him uncomfortable? But what else am I supposed to call this relationship? We see each other nearly every day — we live in the same apartment complex!

Finally, he says, “A-all right. I’ll go with you.”

I almost jump in the air with happiness. “Awesome. My work is in the city, so it’s pretty busy. What do you say about meeting up at my place at ten-thirty in the morning tomorrow?”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

“Great! I’ll see you then. I’m looking forward to it.”

* * *

Kasamatsu is prompt, arriving shortly before the time I’d assigned him. When I open the door, my chest thumping with excitement, he stands before me, wearing simple but nice clothes. It’s strange to see him in something other than the school uniform, but my heart does a little leap of pleasure at the sight.

“G-good morning, Nakahara-san,” he mutters, his face already red. He rubs his hand through his hair, which is slightly less messy than usual (since I usually see him right after he’s gone through rigorous practice).

“Good morning,” I say brightly. “How are you doing? Are you ready to go?”

“I’m good. I — I think so.”

“Great! Kise-kun usually walks me to work. Abe-san is kind of weird about things like that. He’s a bit old-fashioned, maybe? Doesn’t like the idea of me walking through the city alone. But I told him that you were coming today, so he didn’t have to bother. He seemed really excited about it.”

“You told Kise?” Kasamatsu seems appalled.

“Well, he would’ve found out sooner or later.”

“I-I suppose so.”

We don’t talk much further for the rest of the way. I make some attempts at conversation, but like the past few days, Kasamatsu seems distracted, and I eventually give up. Maybe once we reach my work, and he has something else to occupy his attention, he’ll brighten up.

We get off the train leading to the city, and then take the five-minute walk to the large building that I’d tried so hard to find that very first day. I relate to Kasamatsu this tale, and he seems to find it rather amusing.

“And then we realized that Kise-kun and I were both going to Kaijou!” I laugh. “It was a pretty good coincidence, huh?”

Kasamatsu says nothing, but stuffs his hands in his pockets, and observes the people rushing around us. I’ve made this trek several times with Kise, but with Kasamatsu, it seems different. Maybe because he doesn’t talk as much as Kise, who can easily come up with conversation matter whenever my mind goes blank.

In what seems like little time (or perhaps a very long time), we reach the building, which looms over us, casting a shadow over everything.

I show Kasamatsu to the elevator and then into Abe-san’s room. Like usual, it’s dark, and I hear Kasamatsu stumble into something. I flip on the light switch (no longer having to maneuver blindly, my hand finds it easily through habit), and the messy room is illuminated.

“You work _here_?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Believe me, I’ve tried cleaning this place. But as soon as I get one thing put away, another something comes to clutter it up.”

“What’s that you’re implying about me, Nakahara-san?”

Kasamatsu and I turn to face the owner of the voice, Abe-san himself. He rubs sleep out of his eyes and stares at the two of us. For a moment, I don’t think he even comprehends that Kasamatsu is here, but then his eyes widen. “W-who is this?”

“This is my friend,” I say, “Kasamatsu-senpai. I invited him here today. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Eh? No, no, not at all. But it was just a bit surprising.” Actually, Abe-san looks more confused than surprised and he keeps giving me strange looks. I think I actually catch him mouth the word _“Friend?”_ to me.

Kasamatsu shoots me a look, but I shrug it off. I said it’d be fine, didn’t I? And it worked out.

“So you’re Nakahara-san’s classmate?” Abe-san asks Kasamatsu. He’s eyeing Kasamatsu rather intently. I’m suddenly grateful my boss isn’t female.

“Um, no. I mean, I go to Kaijou with her. But . . . we’re not classmates.”

Abe-san, with his short-term memory, seems to have forgotten that I said he was my senpai.

“Oh. So how do you two know each other?” Abe-san immediately shoots me an accusing glare, and I have no idea as to why.

“We — we play basketball together sometimes,” Kasamatsu says, his last few words trailing off into barely decipherable sounds. Almost like he’s embarrassed to say them. My cheeks flush.

“I asked Kasamatsu to teach me the sport,” I intervene, before things get more awkward. “He was willing enough to, and has been giving me great advice ever since. We also live right by each other, so we’ll walk home together after we play.”

Wait. Why did I say that last thing? Judging by Kasamatsu’s beet-red face, he’s wondering the same thing.

“Basketball,” Abe-san says. He blinks several times, and then his face suddenly clears. “Ah, basketball!” He gives me another look — but this time it’s more like barely-concealed glee. Again: no idea why.

“Anyway,” I say hurriedly. “There are a bunch of important people coming today, right? Shouldn’t we get started? What do you want me to do first?”

“Right.” Abe-san shakes his head, like he’s trying to get in focus, and says, “We have several prominent young models and even a few actors and actresses coming today. It’s quite a big event. We’re trying to get a new angle on things, so they’re pairing different models, designers, and photographers together.”

I nod, taking all the information in. It will be an exciting experience to see Abe-san taking pictures of new and different people.

“For right now, just get my cameras ready. Kasamatsu-kun, you’re free to do what you want. Nakahara-san is more than capable if you have any questions, though.”

I blush at the compliment — and then at Kasamatsu’s appraising glance toward me.

As Abe-san bustles back to do who-knows-what, I move over to the table which carries his wide assortment of cameras. On one of the first few days, he introduced them to me, talking about them as if they were almost real people. He would tell me the specs of each of them and how they worked individually. Now, he trusts me well enough to pick one out for him.

Kasamatsu watches me as I pick a camera with a variety of abilities that will be flexible enough for today. I can feel my body heating up under his stare.

“You seem good at this,” he says, and I almost drop the new batteries I’d been about to insert into the camera.

“Oh — t-thanks.”

“I didn’t know you liked photography that much.”

“I like a lot of things a lot.” I realize how stupid that sounds and bury my head into my work. He says nothing more.

A few minutes later, I hand Abe-san his camera. He smiles at my choice, and then the three of us head out to the floor where all the preparations for the shootings have been made.  There are people rushing all around as we move up to the next floor and head down the short hallway; no one even notices Kasamatsu being out of place.

The room is huge and I’ve never even been in it before. It looks like they’ve gathered a lot of the equipment in here to prepare for today, and the bright lights above almost blind me. A bunch of models stand in center of the room, gazing around or picking at their hair. I don’t spot Kise, but a second later —

“Kasamatsu-senpai! Nakahara-senpai!”

A familiar shape comes bowling over to us, and I think I hear Kasamatsu groan. I just grin, and as Kise runs up to us, he smiles back. “Hey!” I say. “Big day, huh? Are you excited?”

“Yep!” he says. “What about you? This must be pretty cool for you, too. What do you think of this place, Kasamatsu-senpai? It’s pretty nice, yeah? Isn’t it cool that I work here? And Nakahara-senpai, too?” 

“Sure,” Kasamatsu mutters, though there’s a crease in his forehead.

I laugh, and nudge Kise’s arm. “Looking pretty good like usual.”

He’s been prepped already, his hair styled, and his eyes brightened with make-up. The clothes he’s wearing are something I don’t think any normal boy would be caught dead in, but somehow, he pulls it off. Like he always does. (After all, I suppose that’s a model’s job.)

Kise’s eyes lighten up at my comment. “Thanks, Senpai! I heard that we were switching things up today? Maybe you and Abe-san will get to take pictures of me!”

“Don’t get too big of a head, Kise,” Kasamatsu says, fed up with Kise already.

“Senpai, c’mon!”

When it’s clear that Kasamatsu is not going to relent, Kise turns to me. “We should meet up after I’m done,” he says. “I know! I have some stuff that we can use — we can dress you and Kasamatsu-senpai up, and then we can all take pictures together.”

Kasamatsu blanches, but I immediately latch onto the idea. “That sounds great! Let’s do it. What time will you be done?”

As Kise rattles off a time, I send Kasamatsu a sideways look — his face is pale, but I don’t think it’s just at the prospect of dressing up.

* * *

Abe-san is situated before a sweet-looking girl in a flowing periwinkle dress, directing the angle of her head and where to place her hands. As I soak in how he takes in the direction of the lightning, the background setting, and, of course, the girl herself, Kasamatsu sits beside me, fidgeting.

I don’t think he’s bored. I’m able to talk with him while Abe-san takes the photos, and he reciprocates decently. And sometimes, he even shows interest in how Abe-san uses his camera. But there’s something that I can’t exactly place my finger on.

“Hey,” I say, and Kasamatsu’s head swivels up. His bouncing knees jerks up and down, then stills, then starts jumping again.

I hold up my own personal camera, a small and cheap version to Abe-san’s elaborate ones, and say, “To commemorate the day.”

“I thought we were doing that with Kise later,” he says.

“Yeah, but we’ll be all dressed up later. And it’ll be with Kise. I want one with just you and me, just a normal photo.”

For several moments, he just looks surprised, but then he nods. I smile, and lean in to him, holding the camera before us. “All right!” I say. “Smile on the count of three! One . . . two . . . _three_!”

The camera flashes, and I feel him tense. His shoulder brushes against mine, and I don’t make an effort to move myself away. I flip the camera around, and show him the picture. “It’s great,” I tell him. “You have a nice smile.”

He just stammers.

* * *

A little while later, it’s about time to meet Kise, and Abe-san lets us go, saying we’ve done more than enough work for today. Kise is waiting for us in a long room with a bunch of mirrors on one side, and then clothes hung up on the other.

“This is your source?” I say, laughing. “Are you sure we’re allowed to use this?”

“Sure, why not?” he says. “Just find your size, and then there are dressing rooms down there. If you want, Nakahara-senpai, my assistant’s still here, and I’m sure she’d be more than willing to do your hair and make-up.”

“Make-up?” Kasamatsu’s head jerks up from where he was browsing through some shirts. “I’m not wearing any make-up.”

“You don’t have to put any on, Kasamatsu-senpai,” Kise says, laughing at his captain’s alarmed tone. “It’ll just be for Nakahara-senpai. I mean, you don’t mind, do you, Senpai?”

“Of course not.” Actually, the idea of totally dressing up kind of thrills me.

A few minutes later, I’ve picked out a dress, hoping it’s not too daring of me, then Kise tells me where I can find his assistant, a “totally nice lady,” he says.

She lets me change first, praising me on my choice, and then she quickly does my light brown hair up in a loose bun, curling some strands to hang out in front. She only applies a thin layer of make-up, since we don’t have much time for more, but I thank her profusely because she’s done a wonderful job.

Kise told me the room that I’d meet them in, and I find it easily enough, having become familiar with the building since I’ve been working here. Before I enter, though, I hesitate. I wonder what the two of them are wearing. I wonder if they’ll like my own outfit. It’s a sleeveless silvery-gray dress, with a ruffled skirt, and then sparkling heels and white gloves to match. Very ambitious for me, but I liked it, thinking it might be something I would wear if I ever sung in front of a large crowd. A performer’s outfit. I like that thought.

I take a deep breath, and push the door open.

Kise and Kasamatsu are talking to themselves, but they stop when I enter. Kise is the first to speak, saying, “Wow, Senpai, you look great!” I smile at the compliment, but then my gaze goes to Kasamatsu, who is just staring at me. Kise has to elbow him back into motion — and the first thing he does is flush bright red.

“U-uh, you like nice, Nakahara-san,” he mumbles, and I beam.

“You two look awesome as well,” I tell them, and I mean it.

They’re both wearing suits, with ties that match each of their eyes. Kise basically looks like he was born to wear a suit, and I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s had to. Kasamatsu is still fidgeting, pulling at the cuff of his sleeves. But maybe his awkwardness is kind of adorable.

I near the two of them, and I say, “Well, this is great and all, but we have no photographer. I would do it, but that doesn’t really work . . .”

Kise just grins, and then the door bangs open.

“My, my, kids, you all clean up well.”

I whirl around. “Abe-san! What are you doing here? I thought you still had more work to do!”

“Sure, sure, but I can take a break every now and then, can’t I?” He grins at the three of us, taking in our appearances. “And I couldn’t resist coming to see you and snapping some photos. All right, all right, then. Kise, you stay there. Nakahara-san, you move to the middle.”

As he shouts directions out to us, we hurry to obey them, and eventually end up in the positions he wants. He takes a few pictures like that, a more formal type of photo. But then he just lets us do whatever we want, only shouting out things every once in a while, and clicks his camera on a whim. Somehow, I think Kise’s arm gets slung around my shoulders, while Kasamatsu tries to push him away. And then in another shot, Kise stands behind Kasamatsu, and then Kasamatsu crouches behind me after I sit and cross my legs. I’m starkly aware of the little distance between us, and how, when he leans forward as Abe-san tells him to, I can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck.

We do a variety of positions and poses, some getting crazier and crazier, and eventually, laughter descends on us all. I’m not entirely sure if I’ve seen Kasamatsu smile or laugh that much, but he does that day. When Kise tries to balance himself on his hands, then falls over spectacularly, at first Kasamatsu starts lecturing him, but after he sees me laughing, his scolding trails off and simply dissolves into a smile. And then when we all try to mimic throwing a basketball mid-air (even though we’re in suits and a dress), yet get all the timing wrong and have to try who-knows-how many times more before Abe-san can finally get the shot — he laughs when I forget my form completely and knock my hand into Kise’s head. And then laughs again when he trips over his own feet a minute later.

At the end of the day, most of my make-up’s been worn off, my hair’s a mess, and I’m fairly certain I’ve just had some of the most fun in my entire life.


	20. Eirin

He calls me again several days later.

“Let me ask you this first,” I say. “How exactly did you get my number?”

“I asked the sky and it fell into my lap.”

“Stop kidding around. You’re not _that_ charming.”

“Ah, but the way you said that implies that you think I’m charming to an extent?”

I inwardly fume and he laughs at my silence.

“Kasamatsu-senpai gave it to me,” he says.

The traitor. I’ll have to talk to him later.

“Are you upset with him?” Kise asks.

Upset? That’s not exactly the word I would choose. I say, “You would’ve gotten it somehow. There was probably no avoiding this.”

“Ichikawa-san, must you use that tone?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say that you’re happy to talk with me! I’m happy to be talking with you.”

My cheeks flame and I’m glad that we are separated by the phone — that it is nighttime, and that if I turn, I will not see my reflection in my mirror: the visible proof of how he affects me. “I wouldn’t say I’m exactly happy to be woken up after midnight every night.”

“I’ll take that,” he says. “Because, after all, you didn’t say you weren’t happy to be talking to me. Ichikawa-san, you really like to avoid things, don’t you?”

 I have to bite back my next words when I realize they prove his point exactly.

So I say, “Yes. I tried avoiding you. But look at how well that turned out for me?”

“Great,” he chirps into the receiver. “While your stubbornness may not be your best quality, it’s definitely something I like about you.”

I have to clamp my hands around the phone and lay it down on the bed for a few moments. He is such a _flirt_. Of all the people I had to get involved with, why’d it have to be him? Someone who won’t leave me alone?

I suppose, that’s the exact reason why.

Him and his persistency. “Kise,” I say, and I hear his breath catch. “Why do you try so hard with everything?”

He doesn’t answer for what seems like a long time. Then, “I don’t understand, Ichikawa-san. Why wouldn’t you want to give your best in everything that you do?”

* * *

I visit the basketball team’s practice the next day. They’re in full throttle when I enter, and my eyes are immediately drawn to Kise, who is running laps with the other first-years. They race around the court in circles, but he always seems to be one step ahead of them. My legs seem to be frozen as I watch him — and then I realize that he is nearing me.

He sees me and his eyes widen. He is going fast — so fast — but he halts to a dead stop right in front of me; so close that he almost runs into me. Some of the other first-years cry out and narrowly avoid running into him. 

“Hey,” he says.

I swallow. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

If I wanted to, I might be able to count the individual beads of sweat running down his skin. The strands of blond hair plastered onto his forehead. Each and every individual eyelash framing his golden eyes.

He is too close. Much too close. But I can’t seem to move away and there’s a slight lilt in his lips — the brat is enjoying this.

“I came to see Yukio, of course,” I find myself saying.

He lifts an eyebrow, a challenge rising in his eyes. “Just Kasamatsu-senpai?”

My throat is dry — but if I swallow, lick my lips, blink just once too many times, he’ll see. I am sure he’ll notice. And he will say something about it, because he always does. “You shouldn’t let such things get to your head,” I say, trying my best to impersonate Kasamatsu. “Someday, you might topple over from the weight of it.”

I point my finger at him, and attempt a mock glare — but my finger trembles. He notices, of course, and he grabs my hand to steady it, and there’s a teasing smile on his face. “Are you cold?” he asks. The words are serious, but there’s a burning fire in his eyes.

Cheeky. So very cheeky.

I snatch my hand away from him and stalk away. He trails after me, no doubt in order to torture me further, but just then a savior appears in the form of Kasamatsu Yukio.

_“Kise!”_

Kise topples over, having taken a neat kick from Kasamatsu. “Ow! Senpai, why?”

“I told you to run laps! Don’t be bothering Eirin now! Get back to what you should be doing, first-year.”

Kise casts one more glance at me, but he nods, and then joins the line of other first-years who are still running, while looking at us curiously as well. He immediately takes the lead again, much to my irritation.

“Thanks, Yukio-chan-senpai,” I say.

“I’ve told you already, don’t call me that.”

“That’s why I do, though.”

He rolls his eyes and gives up. “So? Why are you here?”

“No particular reason.” I move over to the nearest bench but am surprised to find a girl already sitting there — it takes me a moment to recognize her. She was the one from earlier. The one who said she knew Kise and Kasamatsu.

The girl raises her head as Kasamatsu and I approach and a smile stretches across her face — I’m fairly certain it’s not because of the sight of me, though.

“Hey!” she says. “Kasamatsu-senpai. Ichikawa-san, nice to see you again.”

“You too,” I reply, and I take a seat on the other side of the bench.

“N-Nakahara-san,” Kasamatsu mumbles, his captain presence diminishing. “H-how are you doing today?” I almost snigger. It’s almost a miracle he can say that much in front of a girl. She grins with something near triumph, and suddenly curiosity fills me. Kasamatsu hasn’t mentioned anyone like her — though to be fair, we haven’t seen each other much lately . . . and I haven’t exactly told him what the progressing relationship (or whatever it is) between Kise and me is yet either.

Kasamatsu leaves to go do whatever his captain duties are, and the girl — Nakahara Susumu, if I remember correctly — and I are left with an awkward space between us. If it was Mom or Masuhiro sitting here, they’d immediately have struck up a lively conversation, but as it is . . . my social skills could be improved, to say the least.

“You and Kise, huh?” the girl finally says.

I jerk. “What?”

“You two made quite a presentation there a few minutes ago,” she says, observing me and taking a sip from a water bottle. “Are you two going out?”

“W-what? No way!”

“Oh. I see. He hasn’t said anything to me, so I didn’t know.”

Her forwardness puts me off guard, so I immediately retaliate in defense. “And what about you and Yukio? He was able to say a full sentence to you! That’s — that’s abnormal!”

To my surprise, instead of getting offended, the girl just grins and says, “I know, right? It’s taken a while, but he’s really warmed up to me, hasn’t he? You must know him better than anyone else, so tell me: has he always been this shy with girls?”

I just stare at her. She is so earnest, almost like Kise in a way, and it unnerves me. Finally, I say, “Yeah. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s barely been able to string two words together in front of a girl. He was only able to become friends with me because our parents forced us to — and basketball. We used to play basketball together, so that helped.”

Her eyes lighten up at the mention of basketball. “You play, too? Well, I guess that would make sense. Are you any good? I’m just learning myself, so I still have quite a ways to go. Kasamatsu-senpai’s been teaching me, though.”

I think over this new fact — the idea of Kasamatsu spending extended time with a girl, the hoop, and a ball — but move onto her question before I can get distracted. “I don’t play anymore.”

I keep it short. There is nothing more she needs to know than that.

She looks disappointed at my answer. “Oh. I see.”

To my relief, she doesn’t press as to why, and leaves it be. She turns away at that moment, too, because Kise and the other first-years just finished their laps, but Kise did something stupid (of course) and now Kasamatsu’s yelling at him again.

I am glad for the distraction, because it allows me to reach down and rub my leg. Whenever I mention or even think about the accident, my leg always seems to throb. It is most likely just my imagination, but I can’t help but feel that I’ll never get over this injury.


	21. Susumu

The house is quiet, with Nyoko in her room studying, and our parents gone on a business party. I’ve wandered away from my own work, my grumbling stomach forcing my hand, when I hear the knock.

I nearly drop the water cup I’d just filled. Nyoko enters moments later, her eyes wide — no one visits our house. We don’t even know anyone who’d want to come — except . . .

Tentatively, I peer through the door’s peek hole, then sigh, and unlock and open it.

Our brother, Hideo, steps into the house, and to my chagrin, he’s grinning. “Hey there, sis,” he says, then looks around me to Nyoko. “Yo, other sis. How are you two doing?”

“Don’t just barge in here, Nii-san,” Nyoko says, looking affronted. “What if our parents were here?”

He shrugs. “I took a chance. I could’ve dealt with them.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, stepping back so he can take off his shoes and come farther in. “You know, Mom and Dad . . .”

He frowns. “You two are both old enough that they shouldn’t be controlling you like they do. I wanted to see you. They can’t prevent me from doing that. Now, can they?”

Nyoko blinks several times, and I almost think I see her eyes watering. She says, “U-um, are you hungry or anything? We have some leftovers from dinner — or I could —”

“I’m good, thanks,” he says, and he smiles again.

It’s a strange smile, I think. In part, it is genuine, and then it is fixed as well. As I take in my brother, I wonder what he has been up to in the several months I haven’t seen him. He’s three years older than Nyoko, and after graduating from high school, he’d taken off, throwing away our parents’ college plans for him. Since then, he’s been traveling all around, only stopping by every so often, each time strikingly different but still similar somehow.

I look at him now, at the hair which he’s let go too long without a cut. He always did like it a bit on the longer side, and Nyoko and I used to play with it, running our hands through the soft strands. His eyes are soft as well, still bearing that rare kindness — a type of look that I find in very few people, and that seems to glimmer in their eyes when you look at them, even if they try to hide it. It’s no wonder why he’s popular with girls, and it’s probably one of the reasons his career as a musician has done well so far. He never tells us much about it, and I’m sure it was tough at first, but it seems like it’s been going pretty smoothly lately. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even have the satisfaction of saying my brother is famous some day.

A shot of pleasure runs through me at the thought, and I follow Hideo and Nyoko to the couch, sitting down beside them. Hideo throws his arm over my shoulders good-naturedly and I relax against him, missing the feeling.

“Where have you been?” I ask, eager for news about his travels and latest experiences.

For a few minutes, he winds tales for Nyoko and I, telling us about the girls he flirts with, the beautiful places he sees, and the new songs he creates.

“You should’ve brought your guitar,” I say, eyeing his empty hands. “You could’ve played a song for us.” Briefly, my mind goes to another guitar player just a few doors down, but I push the thought away.

“I will when I come next,” he promises.

“It sounds like you’re having a great time,” Nyoko says. “But . . . why are you here? I . . . there’s something you want to say, isn’t there?”

I frown at her for ruining the good mood, but I’d suspected the same thing. He’d come with a purpose, and not just to visit with us.

Hideo’s face closes off briefly. He says, “Yeah. I wanted to check up on you guys. How is your school going? How are Mom and Dad? They’re not . . . pushing you too hard, are they?”

Nyoko and I share a look, clarity flooding both of us.

“If you’re worried about us,” Nyoko says carefully, “then don’t be. Susumu and I are fine. Mom and Dad are as strict as always, but we can handle it.”

A flash of hurt crosses his face at the implication: _We can handle it. Not like you._ But he quickly swallows the emotion and simply smiles. “Good. I’m glad to hear. But you know, what your parents want for you doesn’t have to be your own dreams.”

Nyoko stands up then and the anger is clear on her face. “What are you saying?” she cries. “I’m not going to run away from this like you! I’m not going to betray Mom and Dad like you did! I have a responsibility, and I can do it.”

“Nyoko,” he says. “I know you’re strong — ah, you and Susumu are both tougher than I am. But I just want to make sure that you both know — _you have to know —_ that sometimes the best path to follow isn’t the one laid out for you. It’s the one you carve for yourself.”

He stands up. For a moment, I want to pull him back, beg him to stay. But he just runs a hand through his hair — smiles that smile — and says, “It was nice chatting with you guys. Next time, I’ll perform for you, okay? An exclusive performance.”

He casts one look back at Nyoko and me, an inexplicably soft expression in his eyes. Then he’s gone.


	22. Eirin

There is the screeching of tires. I hear someone yell — a desperate cry for me. To keep me safe. But in the end, it wasn’t me he should’ve been worried about.

My eyes fly open to darkness. I roll over in my bed, turning to my clock — it’s three in the morning. I groan and pull the covers up to my chin, hoping the silky sheets will distract me.

But the bed is too big.

I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a while. After the accident, they used to plague me for months — they slowed down after then, happening only every so often over the next few years. And lately, I haven’t been having them at all. Other things to think about, other things to worry about.

Kise didn’t call me tonight. If I wanted to, maybe I could dial his number, wake _him_ up for a change. Bother him some. Though, somehow, I get the feeling that I wouldn’t really be bothering him, and that thought just irks me.

I close my eyes briefly, letting a natural darkness take over me. But it doesn’t last long, and soon I’m back in the nightmare’s grip.

* * *

The next day is a Saturday, something I’m grateful for since I barely got any sleep last night. I while away the morning hours in my bed, enjoying the gentle rays of sun coming through my curtains and chasing away the dreams.

Then my phone rings.

It’s not really a mystery to who it is.

I flip open the phone and answer in a clipped tone. “Yes? To whom am I speaking?”

“You’re so cold, Ichikawa-san. But that aside, what are you up to today?”

“Everything that doesn’t involve you.”

“Ehhh? Why would you say something like that?”

I sigh. “So? What do you want?”

“I’m working today. Wanna come?”

“No. Why would I want to?”

“Well, Nakahara-senpai invited Kasamatsu-senpai over the other day, and that was really fun. So I thought you might . . .”

“Wait, what? Yukio went to your work?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. What about it?”

I try to imagine Kasamatsu at a modeling agency and fail. So I just snort and say, “Fine. I’ll go. What time?”

For a second, there’s no response. Then — “Whoa! Really?”

“Yeah. I said I’d go. What time?”

“I didn’t expect you to give in that quickly! Are you sick or something? Is this really Ichikawa-san I’m talking to?”

I glower into the phone. “Yes. What are you implying?”

“It’s just, I thought you’d definitely refuse, and that I wasn’t going to get you to come at all,” he explains. “I thought the chances of you accepting were about less than one percent or something. So, what’s up?”

“What’s up?” I echo, confused.

“Why’d you decide to go with me?”

I frown, thinking it over, then I say, “I suppose it turns out I can’t really refuse you after all.”

After that, he doesn’t say much at all, other than giving me the time and place of where to meet.

And I am just left wondering why on earth I said something like that.

* * *

An hour later, we meet up at a place marked by a fountain — nearby, there’s an ice cream shop, so I’d known I’d found the right area.

“Hey! Ichikawa-san.” Kise grins when he sees me. He’s in fairly simple clothes. I wonder if that’s because they’re going to dress him up at his work, so he doesn’t bother to wear anything nice now.

Although I generally refrain from wearing anything fancy or even verging on less-than-comfortable, my mom has picked out plenty of clothes for me that would qualify as such. Today, for some reason, I felt in the mood for wearing some of her choices, and snatched up a pair of light khakis, sandals, and a flowy golden blouse. Thinking back on it, the color choice of the shirt probably wasn’t a good idea. The hue is way too similar to his eyes, which I have to make an effort not to stare into.

Oh, goodness. What’s getting into me?

“You look nice today,” he says, and I about trip over myself. He holds his hand out for me, but I ignore it, my cheeks flaming.

“I’m sure you’ll look nice today, too,” I say, then I about slap my hand against my mouth. What am I saying?

He just laughs, though I think I see the faintest tinge of pink against his cheeks.

The train ride to the city seems to move at a sluggish pace — if it’s already starting like this, how am I going to survive the rest of the day? Even though there’s a good space between us, it seems small. Too small. If I moved farther away from him, he’d notice. He’d tease me, and then I’d have to be tortured by his voice. Which is strangely becoming attractive — wait, stop, don’t think about it that way.

A few minutes are spent winding around the city. He tells me to keep close, but I trail several feet behind him — until, finally, after a few times of almost being separated, he grabs my hand and pulls me close to him. I wonder if he can feel the heat emanating from my body. He doesn’t comment, but leads me forward to his workplace.

Before I know it, we’re standing in a medium-sized room filled with an assortment of chairs and a few other people waiting. He turns to me, still gripping my hand. “I have to get ready first,” he says. “But you brought something to do like I told you to, right? I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

I nod, wordless, and he squeezes my hand and smiles before leaving.

Quite a bit of time passes — how long, I’m not sure — but when Kise returns, I have to swallow and pretend my hands aren’t shaking. Even though my skin has cooled from his warmth, I can still feel the imprint of his fingers.

“Ichikawa-san,” he calls, waving me over.

My legs feel stiff as I rise from the chair. There’s a man with him, a sort of guy who I personally think looks like he doesn’t belong at a modeling agency. He’s saying something to Kise and doesn’t seem to notice me as I near them.

“Oh, Ichikawa-san,” Kise says, “this is Abe-san. He was giving me some photos he took the other day of me, Nakahara-senpai, and Kasamatsu-senpai.”

He’d mentioned that Kasamatsu had come here. They’d actually gotten him to take pictures? That Nakahara girl might kind of be amazing.

“Oh, hello,” says the man. He glances at me then does a double-take. His gaze flips between Kise and me, an almost idiotic-looking grin appearing on his face. I raise a questioning eyebrow at Kise, who just shrugs.

Abe-san leans over to Kise and says something too low for me to hear — Kise’s face immediately turns red at the words, though.

It takes a few moments after Abe-san has left for Kise’s skin to return to their normal shade. Now that it is just us two, I move closer to him. For once, he is not smiling — but looking at me squarely in the face. I see a question in his eyes as I evaluate him.

It’s strange to see him with make-up on. It highlights his eyes, showing their brilliance — but I still prefer him without all of it. He is attractive enough without anything else. Even the clothes he wears and the way they’ve styled his hair — I can only think that he would look good in anything.

I nod. “It’s nice.”

“Nice?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“You look . . .” I struggle for words. “Um . . . ready to go?”

He lets out a low chuckle and my insides do flip-flops. “Ichikawa-san, sometimes you say the most interesting things.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shakes his head. “Never mind that. C’mon, let’s go. They’re waiting on me.” He takes my hand again, and starts leading me away, but I pull back.

“No — wait,” I say. “Let me clear this up. I’m sorry. Maybe I say interesting things . . . but they’re not the right things. So let me try again: you look nice. Really nice.”

A smile slips onto his face, and there’s a light in his eyes. “Is that so?  Just nice?” 

I swallow, then I look him in the eyes. He is much taller than me; I have to crane my neck. But just looking into the golden eyes is almost the hardest part — he doesn’t waver from my gaze. On the contrast, he seems to revel in it.

“The truth is . . . ,” I say slowly, and I can literally feel him waiting, his breathing quickening.

“Yes?” There is still that quirky little smile on his face. Annoying, yes. But also maybe a little cute.

I blurt out the rest of my thoughts, whatever the consequences.

“The truth is, you look kind of hot, too.”

I don’t know if he was expecting that or not — but suddenly he can’t look at me anymore. I think he might be blushing.


	23. Susumu

Practice is brimming with energy when I enter, and today, I am pleased to see the team in high spirits.

Good thing, too, because I’ve brought Nyoko with me.

After school, my sister grabbed hold of my arm and uncharacteristically demanded to let her tag along. Assuming that maybe her friends abandoned her or something, I didn’t argue, and led her to the gym.

She seems pleasantly surprised at my choice of venue, staring around at the vaulted ceilings and polished floor with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you liked sports,” she says, her mouth gaping.

My brow wrinkles. “It’s a new development.”

“Hey, Nakahara-senpai!” Kise waves a hand at me and Nyoko gasps.

“T-that’s Kise Ryouta!” she says.

“Yes, yes it is.” I give her a look. “Want to meet him?”

“Ehh . . . maybe not now.” Her eyes rove over the players, a strange curiosity in them.

I roll my eyes and wave back to Kise who gives me a grin before returning to practice. From the other side of the court, someone throws a ball toward him, but with his fast reflexes, he just manages to catch it.

“Oi, what are you getting distracted for, Kise?”

Kasamatsu’s scowling and I can’t help but smile as he begins to scold Kise. When Kise points out why he was distracted, though, Kasamatsu finally notices Nyoko and I — and I wish I could record the look on his face.

“Who’s that?” Nyoko whispers beside me, and I blanch.

Poor Kasamatsu-senpai.

“That’s Kasamatsu Yukio,” I say, and I motion her over to some benches. “He’s the captain of the team.”

“He’s giving me a funny expression.”

“He gets awkward around girls.”

I don’t tell her that she might have a worse-than-usual effect on him because of you-know-what.

Nyoko looks mildly amused. “He seems interesting. Do you like him?”

My face reddens. “W-what? Why would you think that?”

“Well, he looked at you first, didn’t he?”

I don’t answer. And Kasamatsu precedes to trip a lot during practice.

* * *

Nyoko leaves halfway through practice, saying something came up. I am almost glad for it. I didn’t know what would happen when practice was over . . . because that’s usually when Kasamatsu and I would play basketball together, and then walk home.

For some reason, I don’t feel like giving that up. Or sharing it with Nyoko.

In the past months that I’ve been learning basketball, I’ve gotten significantly better. While I’m obviously still not as good as Kasamatsu (or anyone on the basketball team, for that matter), I have at least gotten to where I can keep up with him. Though, someday, I would like to play him full-strength.

He tests me on footwork today, running quick drills, even though I know he must be exhausted from directing the team. I suppose that’s one of the things I appreciate about him — and I want to make it known to him.

I let the ball drop from my hands and his head snaps up to look at me, drawn by the sound. “Kasamatsu-senpai,” I say.

“Nakahara-san?” He looks confused.

“Thank you. Have I told you that before?”

“I — I think so.”

“I mean, you put so much effort into everything. You give all your energy into what you love, and I really admire that. Even day after day, you never seem to tire, and you’re always more than willing to help people. So . . . thank you.”

I duck into a quick bow, letting my hair hide my face, my heart pumping.

When I look up, his face is pink like I expected. He runs a hand through his hair several times, clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Nobody . . . nobody’s said something like that to me before,” he says. “So . . . I guess . . . thank you, too?”

* * *

The walk home is quiet, and I wonder what he is thinking about.

I am thinking of why Nyoko came to practice today, when lately she always seems to be spending time with her friends. Was it perhaps because of something Hideo said? What exactly is she searching for?

What am I searching for?

“Nakahara-san?”

Kasamatsu’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, out of the past, and I glance at him. “Huh?”

“Are — are you all right?” He flaps an unsure hand. “You seem . . . different today.”

Was he put off by my compliment earlier? I say, “What do you think is better: to choose something that is better for someone else or something that is better for you?”

I already know his answer.

“That question is flawed,” he says. “There is no ‘something better for someone else’ or ‘something better for you.’ They’re connected. If I were to make a choice for my team, but ignore my own needs, it would be detrimental to me, and therefore the team since I’m their captain. And if I were to just do whatever I want and ignore the team, it would damage the team and they would also lose respect in me.”

I smile, because it’s exactly what I imagined. His firmness in his beliefs, the evenness of his words, and the confidence with which he delivered his answer.

“Okay,” I say, and he looks surprised by my quick acceptance.

“Are you —?” He falters, and the bravado he just had disappears.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “But you know what? I’m feeling like getting some ice cream. What do you think? Kise-kun just told me of this great place. I really think I should treat you, Kasamatsu-senpai. After all, you really are kinda amazing.”


	24. Eirin

“And can you believe it? He was actually good at the sport! I never thought a weak-looking guy like him could be so amazing, but lemme tell you, Ichikawa-san, Kurokocchi is pretty awesome!”

I’m pretty sure I’m half-asleep, listening to Kise drone on about some Kuroko with over-repetitions of “-cchi” and whatnot. But somehow, the phone is still in my hand, and I haven’t found the opportunity to cancel the call yet.

“Ichikawa-san?” His voice is questioning over the line. “You still awake?”

“Mmmm. I don’t think so.”

His laugh fills my ear and some part of me perks up. “Do you have a habit of being in denial?” he asks.

“It’s not a habit, no,” I say. “It’s a perpetual state-of-being.”

“Well, I can’t deny that. Good night, then. Ichikawa-san.”

I can hear him shuffling around. He always waits a few seconds after he says those words before he hangs up. I think he wants me to say something back, and usually he is disappointed.

But tonight is different, because tonight, five years ago, I lost everything.

I remember it clearly. The squeal of the breaks, an awful crunching sound, metal against metal, and then silence and stillness. Just like that: my leg wouldn’t ever be the same. No more running, no more basketball. 

And my father wouldn’t ever come back.

So, tonight, when he waits those few extra seconds, I close my eyes, and I say, “Will you stay?”

I hear his breath catch. Then he laughs again, low and comforting. “I’m not really _there_ , you know.”

That might be good, because then he would not see me in this fragile state.

I swallow. “You know what I mean.”

“All right, all right. We’re just preparing for the festival tomorrow, right? Are you excited for it?”

I appreciate the switch of topic, and I wonder if it’s intentional. Sometimes, he does that. Observes things about me that I don’t see until after.

“I’ve never really participated in the festivals much,” I say. “I’m sure you enjoy them, though.”

“Of course! What’s there not to enjoy about them? You get to decorate the whole school! And make a bunch of delicious food and dress up and spend two full days having fun! Isn’t that just great?”

When he says it, I almost believe it. “Do you know what your class is doing yet?” I ask him, leaning back in my bed and pulling the blankets to my chin.

“Nope, not a clue. Got any ideas?”

“Even if I did, shouldn’t I be sharing them with my own class?”

“Ohhh, so are we going to compete, then, Ichikawa-san? Let’s see which class gets top place!”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “You know, my creativity level is about zero, right?”

He laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second. If you put your mind to it, I’m sure you can do anything.”

It is an off-handed compliment, but my cheeks still feel warm. “And what about you? What ideas are you going to put forth tomorrow?”

“If I tell you, you might steal them for your own!”

“That’s not possible. I’m sure none of your ideas are worth stealing.”

“Ah, how mean, Ichikawa-san.”

“C’mon,” I prompt. “Give me a silly idea of yours to prove me right.”

He groans on the other end of the line. “You really are cruel.” I can hear the smile in his voice, though. “For your information, I thought I had some pretty good ones. Like, how about we dress in a costume the opposite of our personality? Or what if we did something like a maze? Or both?”

I attempt to hold back a snort but fail. He just sighs. “I mean,” I begin, “I think a classroom is a bit small for a maze. And what, are you going to dress yourself up as some dark bad boy?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Would you like that?”

Before I can help myself, an image of him as such pops into my mind and it’s . . . intriguing. I don’t tell him that.

“I had an idea for your class, too,” he continues.

“My class? What are you doing suggesting ideas for my class? I thought we were in a competition!”

“Well, you never did agree to it. And I wouldn’t mind getting beaten by you.”

I almost slam my face into the phone.

“Plus,” he says, “I want you to suggest this idea to your class so I can see you in this theme.”

“You’re hilarious. Delusional. Really.”

He acts as if I hadn’t spoken. “I think you should do a masquerade. Ball gowns and suits and chandeliers and all that.”

“First of all, I don’t think we can install a chandelier in our class. What is it with you and these crazy settings? Second of all, why a masquerade?”

“Because I want to see you in a dress and a mask.”

I sigh. “I got that. But _why_?”

There’s a long pause and for a second, I think he has no reason at all other than the aforementioned. But then he says, “Well, it’s just that . . . masks are supposed to hide stuff, right? Like change who you are and all that. But with you . . . I don’t think even a mask could hide you. If there was a crowd of people who were masked, and you were within them, I am willing to bet that I could pick you out from all of them. Because you’re . . .” He trails off and the next several moments are spent in silence.

I think I might be speechless. And yet when I finally regain my voice, all I can say, “What am I, an experiment?”

* * *

Despite my initial misgivings, I can’t help but ponder over Kise’s suggestion for my class. When the next day arrives, way too bright for my liking, our homeroom teacher begins asking us for our ideas for the festival.

Kids begin shouting things, random ideas with no concrete thought. I am currently torn over whether or not to speak up when our homeroom teacher finally gets tired of our chaos and tells us to go around the room and each volunteer one idea.

Well, guess I have to say something now. And as I’d thought of nothing of my own, Kise’s idea it is.

When my turn comes around, I stand up before the class, feeling heat rising in my cheeks, and say, “A mask. A — a masquerade, that is. Like with ball gowns and suits and a chandelier.”

Wait. Did I seriously just repeat what he said? Even the stupid chandelier part? I want to bang my head into my desk.

But the students all around me are staring at me in awe. I’ve never said anything like that before, and I’m sure they’re surprised. Heh, I’m surprised (both by Kise and myself, I suppose).

In the end, we do choose the mask. I wonder if somehow Kise’s charm has seeped through me and the kids’ have been unknowingly brainwashed.

Over the next few weeks, we begin rigorous preparation for the festival. The classroom transforms from a tidy learning environment to a dark, moody, and romantic ballroom with sweeping curtains, a glittering floor, and even a makeshift chandelier (how that even happened, I don’t know).

Most of the girls have been put on sewing duty, but when I told them I’d lose the use of all my fingers if I attempted to make a costume, they let me do the masks. Which is still problematic as I lack any such creativity. I wasn’t lying when I told Kise that.

So, in effort to make up for my rather poor imagination, I enlist the help of my brother.

“Your class is doing a masquerade?” Masuhiro’s eyes go large. “That’s so awesome! And you need my help? Sweet!”

Just like that, he’s in. Unlike me, my brother is ever responsible, dutiful, and willing to help. Must be nice. And tiring.

The day before the festival, I receive my dress, and Masuhiro and I are able to put the final touches on my mask so that it matches. The dress is a contradiction of silver and gold. The colors switch and twist around each other, changing to create an ever-shimmering pattern. Masuhiro styled my mask out of black before adding swirls of silver and gold glitter to create intricate, star-like designs.

Even my mom seems excited for the festival. She helps me into the dress, which is way too long for my liking, but still fits surprisingly well. She gushes over the colors and tells me which make-up to put on to match and to make my eyes pop out or whatever (that sounds pretty horrific to me). I borrow a pair of her high heels and she finally does my hair up in a fancy bun.

After tying my mask on, she declares me ready, and shoos me to the school. I feel stupid walking in the whole get-up, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I could’ve changed at school with all the other kids, but I didn’t like that idea.

When I reach the school, students are flying all around in preparation for the opening moments. The costumes and decorations are going to be amazing this year, I can already tell. I make my way toward my classroom, hoping I don’t trip over myself, and eventually reach the dark-cloaked room.

“Ichikawa-san!” calls one of my classmates. “There you are! We were just wondering. We got a request from someone.”

I frown at the girl. “A request? What do you mean?”

“You know how we practiced dancing, right?”

Yes. It was a pain.

“Well, someone wants us to do a performance.” The girl checks her watch. “In about thirty minutes?”

I begin to panic. “Thirty minutes? That’s — we barely have any time to practice together! In our full costumes and everything! Why did you accept?”

She gives me a strange look. “Why wouldn’t you want to perform in front of Kise Ryouta?”

I am going to kill him.

As it turns out, I don’t get the chance to, because murdering someone in a ball gown is not ideal. Also, when you are surrounded by a bunch of his fangirls who are itching to get their own hands on him (for different reasons, I’m sure), it kind of complicates things.

There are approximately thirty kids in our class. We divided the class into three sections: the cooks, the servers, and the dancers. Unfortunately for me, I got put into the dancing squad. (If you’re wondering how they arrived at this conclusion, it’s because everyone was bickering over who should do what so Sensei ended up drawing a lottery. Lucky me.)

There are eight pairs of boys and girls in the dancing group. My partner is a gangly nerd who constantly blushes whenever he’s near me. Could be worse, though. Could be Kise.

We go through a few quick rounds of what we’ve practiced, but it’s very different in our costumes and we continually mess up. Our nerves are also high — being who he is, the female half of our squad keeps jittering.

A half hour passes. And then I see him. Or rather, I feel his eyes on me, and I turn, and he’s looking straight at me.

Experiment: success.

He didn’t even need to request a dance. Selfish.

He smiles. And I hope that he can’t see my mouth drop open.

I suppose his suggestion for his class went through (I mean, why wouldn’t it? he’s Kise Ryouta — you can’t just refuse a model) because he’s wearing all black, his hair messy, the tips dyed black. When he turns his head to observe our room, the piercing in his left ear catches the light of our pathetic little chandelier, and I notice the rips in the sleeve of his shirt.

Oh, goodness. Kill me now.

The girls around me might be fainting. They’re twittering at least. And I’m fairly certain that we will not be able to pull off this dance. Can they even walk?

The music starts, a slow beat. My partner keeps swallowing, like he has something stuck in his throat. But I’m only focused on my feet and getting this over with. I don’t know how it happens, but when we spin — my partner switching over to another — a different hand than normal reaches for mine.

His golden eyes stare into mine with a fiery intensity, and he steps alongside me with a perfect rhythm. I had forgotten his copying skills — our dance is so simple that I’m sure he learned it (and probably improved on it) in seconds.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at him. His hands are hot against mine and I can’t stop staring at the strands of his hair that he dyed black. I wonder how long it will last. How long it will stay that way before going back to its sunshine yellow.

“Dancing with you,” he replies.

“You — I had a partner!”

“Yes. He really looked like he was enjoying himself.” He grins at me and I release my hand from his grip long enough to punch him lightly on the chest.

“You’re an idiot,” I say. “Do you even know what this looks like? Do you even know what —”

I stop speaking, my body halting, because I suddenly realize that we’re the only ones dancing now. As soon as Kise had stepped into the circle, everyone had started staring at us, and eventually stopped dancing altogether.

My cheeks burn.

“I don’t care,” he declares. “I won. I could tell you apart from the others right away. Don’t I get a prize?”

“There wasn’t a bet in the first place,” I tell him. “And if you really want something, I’ll buy you some candy, okay?”

He pouts, just like a little kid. But somehow looking less like a little kid with the earring in his ear and the black clothes. And I really shouldn’t be this close to him. “Ichikawa-san, you run a harsh bargain.”

“I don’t believe we were ever negotiating.”

“Ow.”

He doesn’t seem offended. On the contrary, he grins. And it suddenly changes everything — he looks like himself again (not the opposite persona or whatever), and suddenly I feel like I’m catapulting forward.

Wait. Did my knees actually go weak?

His hands catch me around my arms and he says, “Don’t trip, Ichikawa-san.”

So cheeky.

Then, his grip still firm around me, he begins to drag me from the room, ignoring the stares of all my classmates. He burns through them all, his light one I can’t even bear to ignore anymore.


	25. Susumu

With the school festival in full swing, I haven’t had much time to think about anything. I suppose that’s a good thing because lately, whenever my mind has had a break, it’s always jumped to the worst possible things. Hideo and his words, my parents and their expectations. Kasamatsu and his eyes. And those ridiculous black knee-socks of his. 

So I’m grateful for the distraction that the festival provides, grateful that I get to spend most of my time at the school, and working on our classroom — and practicing my singing.

When our homeroom teacher called for ideas for our theme, someone suggested an idol show. The rest of the class loved it, and even I found myself attracted to the idea. The boys began constructing a stage, the girls made flashy costumes, and when they found out I had a good voice and enjoyed performing, I got assigned a solo part of singing in the actual show.

Singing has always been a special outlet for me. I have never talked about it much to anyone else besides Nyoko, but now that I get a chance to perform — in front of the whole school, maybe — I find myself feeling both nervous and exhilarated.

On the first day of the festival, the whole class is abuzz, enthusiasm seeping through the air. Most of us are already in costume, but since I’m apparently the “star,” they told me to wait until showtime. The classroom has completely morphed into something else entirely, with the room darkened and the tech side of our class engineering several rainbow-colored lights to flash around. The small stage is at the end of the room, with as many chairs as we could fit situated before it. The room isn’t what we spent the most time on, though — it’s the show, and it’s designed to wow.

We’ve posted several flyers all around the school and town to advertise our showtimes — today, we’re performing four different times, and hope to have a good turnout at each.

“Nakahara-san!”

The voice breaks me out of my daydreams. I’ve been standing near the side of the classroom, watching everyone dash past me, back and forth, looking harried but excited. Our first show is in roughly an hour, and people are beginning to get antsy.

Fujimori-san, a nice and generous girl, is waving her hand at me, desperate to get my attention. Waiting for the traffic of kids to slow, I dash across the room to meet her.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“We have a problem,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You know Higuchi-kun? The electric guitar player?”

“Yeah. The one who stands near me.”

“Yes. He’s . . . um. He was moving some equipment and hurt his hand.”

My eyes widen. “So what’s going to happen?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know of any other guitar players, and it’s so short notice. Plus, everyone’s so busy with their own classes . . .”

I swallow. “I _do_ know someone. But I don’t know if he can play electric guitar. Or if he’d be willing. Plus, we only have an _hour_. Is that even long enough to learn the song and be able to play with me?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She brandishes her finger in front of me. “Go ask him. Right now. Otherwise, you’ll be singing acapella.”

I wrinkle my nose at the prospect, and rush off.

The festival is already packed full and I have to move past crowds of parents and their rowdy children, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents — all excited to see what the school and its students have to offer. Seeing as Nyoko is in the same class as Kasamatsu, I know exactly where their room is.

When I reach the third-year hallway, which is overflowing with all sorts of cosplay, I have to squeeze my way through to get to class 3-B. When I finally reach the entrance, I take a quick peek to see if I can spot Kasamatsu or Nyoko.

Nyoko’s told me all about what her class has been up to, so I’m already fairly familiar with what they’re doing. However, I’m still awed by how the classroom looks and the students’ costumes.

They chose to do a color theme, using paint swatches to create rainbow murals on the walls and sparkling lights to refract the sunshine from the window. The students themselves have each chosen different shades of the rainbow, and when lined up together, create a beautiful portrait of hues and tones, all mixed together with perfect efficiency. Nyoko helped with the costumes and the food, dedicating a lot of her time to the festival. She said that she and her friends spent several days coming up with recipes they could dye in all sorts of different colors and had a lot of fun with it. As I watch, people move past me and into the room and are seated by a boy dressed in scarlet and a girl in lime green. Servers dance around tables and on their trays I can see the results of Nyoko’s work in the rainbow array of mochi, cookies, and other candies and sweets.

I don’t see Kasamatsu immediately, but then I spot him in the corner, looking rather uncomfortable, his hands wringing together in front of him. It appears that he’s supposed to be serving people but can’t get the guts up to — especially since the current crowd is mostly made up of girls.

For a moment, I simply observe him. He’s dressed in a light, sky blue color. When I think about it, I understand why they chose the color; it matches his eyes perfectly, and just sort of fits him. It’s almost a timid color, when one looks at it at first, but the more you gaze at it, the more you feel soothed by its presence, the easy confidence and surety it possesses; like a pure blue sky that will always welcome you back. That’s kind of like what Kasamatsu is like.

I stride into the room, my eyes set on him, but two ushers come up to me, twins, one in black and the other white.

“Hello, miss,” one in black says, smiling, and curtsying. “Would you like to be shown to your seat?”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling at their costumes, “but I’m just here to see someone.”

The two nod, and turn away, rushing off to serve someone else.

Kasamatsu has spotted me by now and there’s a puzzled look on his face. I’m almost to him when two small shapes nearly bowl me over. I stumble, but manage to keep my footing. Kasamatsu, however, isn’t so lucky.

The two shapes — young boys — tackle him, effectively crashing into the ground. I have to keep from laughing when I realize they must be his younger brothers.

“Nii-san!” one whines. He looks to be slightly younger than the other, maybe around eight or nine. 

“It took us forever to get here,” says the taller one.

“Really? Well, it’s a bit busy.” Kasamatsu seems distracted; he keeps glancing at me.

“Are these your brothers?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.

As one, the two boys turn and stare at me.

“Who’s this?” the younger one asks.

“Your girlfriend?” the other whispers in an almost fearful-sounding voice.

Kasamatsu flushes. I laugh. “I’m just his friend,” I tell them. “And since we’re friends, I need to talk to him right now. Do you mind if I borrow him for a sec?”

Well, maybe more for a sec. Before the boys can answer, I grab Kasamatsu’s arm, and start to pull him out of the room. “H-hey!” he says. “What are you doing?”

“I need you,” I say. “I mean — we need to talk. Somewhere less busy. You have a minute, right? You weren’t doing anything anyway.”

I can feel the muscles tense in his arm. He glances briefly down at my grip and scowls — I know he could easily break out of it and leave, but he lets me lead him out of the room and into a more quiet hallway. With the noise  and crowds finally reduced, I let go of him. Crossing his arms over his chest, almost in a protective way, he studies me. “You look normal,” he says.

“This is normal,” I say, motioning toward my jeans and t-shirt. “I haven’t changed yet. My class is doing a performance. Didn’t I mention that?”

“Maybe, yeah.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyway, the guitar player who was going to play with me hurt his hand. So we need a backup.”

He simply stares at me. I wait several seconds for his brain to catch up. I mean, I know he’s not slow. He’s the captain of a basketball team, where you constantly have to make split-second decisions.

But in matters like this . . . when a _girl_ _’s_ involved . . .

He blanches. “You — you want me — ?!”

I nod. “You’re the only guitar player I know. Do you play electric, by the way? I mean, I know you’re good. How are your performing skills? How fast can you learn a song? Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine anyway. You and I’ve played together before, so that’ll help.”

His eyes have become like saucers. He says, “I don’t think you understand. I play the guitar for _fun_. It’s just a hobby. I’m not cut out for standing in front of a crowd or —”

“All the better,” I say brightly. “I like people who are passionate about hobbies. I like people who do things just for themselves, just for fun. That way, you know you’ll always love it, right?”

There’s a strange look in his eyes as he looks at me. But then he just nods, a sharp movement. And then, I am the one who has a hard time catching up. Did he . . . just agree? To help me? To play with me?

“My brother has an electric guitar,” he says, “so I’m familiar with it. It’s not hard. What’s the piece you’re doing? I’ll need to take a look at it, and we should probably start working. Your show starts in half an hour, right?”

His captain tendencies are taking over. And he knew when my showtime was. I smile, and I take his hand again. When I tell him how much fun we’ll have, I’m not sure if he grimaces or returns my smile — either way, I feel like today’s going to be a blast now.


	26. Eirin

“K-Kise! W-what are you doing?” My voice is a low, urgent whisper.

But for all it matters to him, I could be shouting, and he’d have the same reaction. He doesn’t pay any attention to me, but just grips my hand tighter and tighter, leading me through the hallways of the school, to some unknown destination.

I can feel people staring at us, their eyes wide, their fingers pointing. _Who_ _’s that girl with Kise Ryouta? What’s he doing? Why won’t he look at me? Aren’t I prettier?_

He’s walking faster, faster than I can keep up — with my leg and the added heels — I grip his hand, then tug on his shirt with my other. “Kise,” I beg. “Please, slow down.”

He finally turns around; his eyes are slightly dilated when he looks at me, and then his face shutters closed. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. Does your leg hurt?”

I blink, because he’s never mentioned that before. I’ve never even _talked_ to him about it before. As far as I know, not many people know I have a limp. It rarely shows up, only in times when I lose control of myself.

But of course he would notice.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s just . . . these heels . . . they’re killing me.”

A lopsided grin surfaces on his face. “Gives you a few more inches, though.”

I bend over, slip off the right shoe, and reach up to slap him with it. As expected, he dodges, laughing.

“What are you doing?” he says. “Those things could hurt!”

“That’s the point,” I say. “But it wouldn’t matter, anyway, because I knew you’d avoid it.”

He glances at me and says, “I can’t avoid everything, you know.”

“Ooh, are you saying I’ll get a few hits in sometime?”

“You already have,” he mutters, and I think I may have heard him wrong.

I slide my other shoe off, and dangle the pair in my hand. Then I proffer them toward Kise. For a moment, he just stares at me. “You’re the one who dragged me away from my class,” I say. “Take responsibility for it.”

He sighs, and I think he’s going to resign and carry the shoes — but then he careens forward, too fast for me to react, and he does indeed scoop up the shoes — but with me as well.

I let out a shriek, and the shoes fall out of my hand. Mom will have a cow later, but right now, I have other things to worry about. Kise has one arm beneath my back, the other under my knees, and I can only look up to his face — to that grin that is both irritating and endearing at the same time.

“Come now, Ichikawa-san,” he says. “You can’t be walking around without shoes.”

And then with that, he takes off at a run. I scream, and before I know it, my arms are around his neck, my face buried in his chest. It seems faster than it is, a moment accelerated by hot emotions and rising feelings, and before I know it, he’s skidded to a stop. When I press my fingers into his skin, he gently lets me down.

We’re before the gym.

People are streaming in and out and distantly, I can hear the sound of a ball. “What are we doing here?” I look toward Kise, and he stares straight back at me.

“Kasamatsu-senpai told me,” he begins. “You . . . love it, don’t you? Basketball.”

I take a step back. This is not going where I wanted. What is he talking about? No . . . I don’t want to hear it.

“But you keep denying it.” For each step back, he moves forward, unwilling to let me go. “Like you said, you’re always denying yourself. But you need to stop. And so I’m going to try . . . I’m going to try to help.”

There’s a small flicker of emotion in his eyes, and after a moment, I identify it as hope. He _wants_ to help me. Because . . . why?

I remember when there was a time when I was hopeful, too. That hope was ruined, mocked, and destroyed. But now . . . here is something fresh and new . . . a hope undefiled, and I don’t want to see it gone.

I don’t want to see the light in his eyes go out.

He must see some sort of acceptance in me, because he takes my hand, gently squeezing it, and we join the crowd filing into the gym.

When Kise enters, a loud voice immediately calls out to him. “Oi! There you are, Kise! You’re late! What took you so long?”

“Sorry, Nakamura-senpai.” Kise shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I had to pick something up.”

I scowl at his reference toward me.

The source of the voice is a boy on the basketball team, Nakamura Shinya. He’s a second-year with strong shooting abilities and defense. Kasamatsu says that he and Kobori are about the only people he can tolerate on the team.

“I’ve had to make a few shots already,” Nakamura says, “but I’m sure they’ll much more enjoy you doing it.” He grins at Kise and slaps him on the back. “Make it flashy, ’kay?”

Kise nods and then he turns to me. “Nakamura-senpai, this is Ichikawa-san. Will you find her a good seat? She’s my special guest.”

“VIP, huh?” Nakamura grins at me, and as Kise heads off to do who-knows-what, he leads me toward the stands which are already pretty full, and finds me a seat near the front by booting off a teammate.

“What’s this all about?” I ask Nakamura, glancing at the wild masses of people all around me, and the line of people gathering in the center of the court.

“It’s . . .” Nakamura rubs a hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses. “It’s kinda hard to explain. Sorta like a wishing fountain, maybe?”

I stare at him.

“Kise thought it up,” he explains. “People from the school and everywhere else get to come up and express a wish, dream, goal, whatever — first, you get to make a shot. If it goes in, your wish will come true. Then, Kise will make a shot. Apparently, if you don’t make yours and his goes in, then your wish is granted anyway. And if both make it, it’s guaranteed to happen soon.”

“Um, what if he misses?”

He gives me an amused look. “This is Kise we’re talking about, you know? Plus, I’m sure most of the people down there are just lining up to get to see him rather than have a wish fulfilled.”

I glance down at the line, and realize that most of them are girls. For some reason, my heart speeds up.

At that point, Kise reenters the court, and a roar runs through the crowd. He’s wearing his Kaijou uniform, and the royal blue and white seems to almost shine. He still has the tips of his hair dyed black, but with most of it remaining the bright yellow, he’s easily identifiable.

“Are you thinking of a wish?”

I’m startled by the question and Nakamura cocks his head at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask him blankly.

“I mean, Kise wants you to go down there, right?”

I lean over, suddenly feeling sick. “U-um, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I mean — I’m still wearing a costume.”

He gives me an amused look. “You’re just going to be making a shot. Besides, lots of people here are dressed up.”

Of course, he’s right. It’s not like I’ll be racing around the court or anything. Making a shot is simple. Not that I’ve done it in years. The probability of me missing is high, high, high.

And I don’t want to be anywhere near Kise, especially since he’s currently being swallowed up by his hungry fangirls.

“ALRIGHTY!” A voice booms across some speakers and I wince. “Let’s go to it, people! Lovely miss, what’s your name?”

My jaw nearly drops to the floor. “Who appointed Moriyama-senpai as the announcer?” I whisper to Nakamura, and he just shrugs.

The first girl in line shyly steps up to the microphone and says, “Hello. I’m Mizuno Kame. It’s — it’s a pleasure to be here!” She looks straight at Kise when she says the last words, and it’s obvious she almost said “with you.”

“Indeed, it is,” Moriyama says, clearly taking her words the wrong way. “So, Mizuno-san, what is your wish for today?” Taking a ball from Hayakawa who hovers near, he hands it toward her and she rolls it across her palm nervously.

“I — I’d like to . . .” Her face is red, and everyone waits with bated breath for her answer. “I’d like someone to notice my affections and return them.”

Oh, could she have chosen something more cliché?

Moriyama is charmed, though. “Ah, how nice. I’m sure that your wish will be granted today, Mizuno-san. And now, please step forward and take your shot! No need to rush. This is a very important wish, after all.”

I roll my eyes, but the girl doesn’t take a long time like I thought, but lets the ball fly through her fingertips immediately. To my surprise, instead of going wide, it hits the edge of the basket before teetering, teetering — and missing.

Everyone moans and I think I almost see tears in the girl’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mizuno-san!” Moriyama proclaims. “We’ll fix it right away. Kise-kun . . .”

Kise nods, a wide grin on his face, and he takes another ball from Hayakawa. The girl’s tears immediately disappear and then she’s just enraptured by him — I think everyone is, including me. Because the way he moves just seems so natural, like he truly works hard for it and enjoys doing it.

The balls slides through his fingers, up and down, pounding the ground — then he’s jumping and it’s soaring through the air.

A beautiful, clean shot that takes my breath away.

The crowd claps and cheers, and I think I feel the ground shake.    

The girl thanks Kise profusely and then it’s the next. And the next after that. An A on a test. A new cat. Money to travel abroad. More love problems. Most of the girls’ shots are completely off, but a few make it in, and Kise always delivers.

The line is beginning to thin, and Nakamura warns me that they’re closing the event in ten minutes.

“Now or never,” he says.

Now or never.

I don’t take chances very often. Kise is the one who always does that. Leading me forward, pushing me, challenging me.

But he brought me here, didn’t he? He wanted me to be here.

I don’t want to disappoint him.

My legs are moving before I know it, and then I’m the last in line, Moriyama proclaiming that they’re finished “accepting applications” or whatever that means. A few girls turn away crying, giving me evil glares, though I hardly think it’s my fault.

There are only three girls before me, and they seem to fly by. Kise sees me and a grin slides onto his face, huge and unrestricted. He starts to hold out his hand toward me, but then bites his lip, and drops it. I snort. After the stunt he pulled earlier, I hardly think anything he could do now could ruin my reputation further. Not that I had any to begin with.

“Ichikawa-san!” Moriyama says with glee, and he glances sneakily at Kise. “How are you this fine day? My, look at this dress. Truly a beauty you are. Oh, whoops, sorry — I’m just stating the facts, you know?” He coughs and continues. “Anyways, Ichikawa-san, what’s your wish for the day?”

I hadn’t thought about one at all. Kise is staring straight at me, his eyes probing and daring.

I swallow. “I want . . . to be able to express myself. I want to be able to tell . . . someone . . . that maybe . . .” My mind is a storm, and I can’t see through my thoughts. “I want to tell them how much I enjoy spending time with them.”

The words rattle in the air, and at first, I’m not sure if I said them at all.

But then I see that Kise’s eyes are wide — that there is a smile tugging at his lips, and I know I am doomed. I just fell into a cliché, didn’t I?

“Very noble of you, Ichikawa-san,” Moriyama says in a serious voice. He hands me a ball, and I almost gasp at the feel of it in my hands. I haven’t touched one in so long and yet it feels like just yesterday since I last played. I’d expected it to feel foreign, wrong, but it’s still familiar, still so . . .

I glance up at Kise.

_Right._

He nods at me, and I take a few steps toward the hoop, praying I won’t trip over my dress.  Experimentally, I dribble the ball a few times, and then I shoot.

It is a nice, clean arc, and the moment it leaves my fingertips, I know it will go in. And I know this is the real reason Kise brought me here. He wanted me to play basketball again, to stop lying to myself, to return to something that I love.

Sometimes, I wonder if he knows me better than I do myself.

I can distantly hear the people cheering at the goal, but then Kise is beside me, another ball in his hand, and he leans close — but not too close — and whispers in my ear, “So you like spending time with me?”

“Idiot,” I say. “You already knew that a long time ago. Otherwise, why would I suffer so many hours with you?”

He smiles, a soft smile that reaches his eyes, lighting up the golden orbs. He says, “Of course I knew. I’m just glad you know now, too. By the way, Ichikawa-san, what’s your favorite type of shot?”

My face goes red, and I just manage to stammer out an answer. “I don’t really care either way. But do something impressive. It’s the least you owe me.”

He smirks and I see the fire in his eyes at the challenge. “You got it.”

Then he’s racing toward the hoop. People cry out, not having expected his speed and ferocity. A smooth, powerful jump, and he slams the ball through the basket with the force of both his hands.

It’s a perfect dunk.

The ball thuds to the ground, and he drops down, his knees bending to ease the fall, and twists to grin at me, lifting up a hand in the victory sign.

I just sigh, and admit defeat.

Kinda like that dunk, I’ve fallen, and I’ve fallen hard.


	27. Susumu

Although the show doesn’t start for another half hour, there are a few acts before me, so Kasamatsu and I have a few more minutes to get prepared. Currently stationed in our “backstage” room, he and I review the piece that we’re about to perform.

“So what do you think?” I ask him.

“It’s not too hard,” he says. “Mainly, it’s just being able to play it well with you . . .” He glances up at me and blushes before turning back to the sheet music.

“Right,” I say, nodding. “So we better practice some more.”

I know he feels uncomfortable right now, but for me, I am almost . . . happy that this incident happened, however unfortunate it may appear. I’ve only sung with him once, but during that time, it felt different than whenever I would sing by myself or with Hideo. It gave me a strange floating feeling inside of me, like if I lifted my arms, I might be able to fly off the ground if I wanted to.

I want to experience that again.

* * *

“Nakahara-san!” It’s Fujimori. She enters the room and casts a curious glance at Kasamatsu. I wonder if she knows him from the basketball team. He ducks his head, cheeks going red.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Is it time?”

“Yeah. You should be getting dressed. You’ll have your cue in about ten minutes. Are you two good to perform?”

I glance at Kasamatsu. “I think so, yeah?”

He doesn’t reply, so I nod firmly at Fujimori, hoping we look confident. She raises an eyebrow, but accepts my odd partner, and leads me to the changing room.

“I’ve sent someone to deliver his outfit,” she says. “Hopefully it’ll fit with the alterations we made.”

About halfway through our practice, we’d been interrupted by Kasamatsu’s brothers who had somehow tracked us down and seemed even more enthusiastic about this performance than I was. They seemed to have taken it upon themselves to become their brother’s personal cheerleaders —Kasamatsu was probably wishing they’d stayed home today. A few minutes after that, we were interrupted by some girls (much to his dismay) who took his measurements in order to do a few quick changes to Higuchi’s outfit. Luckily, the two aren’t too far apart in size, so it should work well. I don’t think Kasamatsu is too thrilled about having to wear another costume, though. Or having to participate in this whole fiasco, for that matter.

But when he was practicing guitar, I think I did see him smile. If only a bit.

My outfit is . . . how to say it? A sparkling combination of blue, silver, and black — one-sleeved, a skirt to reach my knees, it’s truly an idol’s outfit. I love it. I haven’t seen Kasamatsu’s outfit yet, but I’ve been told it matches. If so, I’m excited.

I quickly slip into the dress, heels, and then perfect my make-up. One of my classmates comes in to do my hair into a kind of high ponytail twist, with ringlets hanging out at the front.

I thank her quickly, then rush to where Kasamatsu should be waiting for me. I hear music coming from my classroom, the show already starting, and in the darkness and distraction, a few of my classmates help me sneak in. No one even notices me, too involved with the show.

In the darkness, I can’t see Kasamatsu very well, but when he turns, I see his outfit glinting in the small light from the stage. It’s mostly white, but with streaks of sequined blue  and black across the sides of the jackets. I smile, thinking of the Kaijou colors, and how they fit him perfectly.

He nods at me. “Nakahara-san.”

“Are you ready?” I whisper.

He stiffens. Then, “N— no. Of course not. But I’m still going to do it. It’s something that I need to do, after all.”

Of course, that is something that he would say. But something in me swells in the fact that he thinks he _needs_ to do this. Perform with me. Help me. Sing with me.

The lights on the stage go out briefly, and I hear the people in the crowd cheering. A single spotlight highlights someone on the stage, and he begins speaking, announcing the next act — _our_ act. Behind him, stagehands are setting up the display: my mic, the electric guitar, and a backdrop I have yet to see.

Fujimori appears behind the two of us, and we both start. “All right,” she says, “you’re up.” And then she unceremoniously shoves me forward, Kasamatsu stumbling behind me.

The stage has stairs at the sides leading up to it. The announcer has left, along with his spotlight, so it’s total darkness. I hope I don’t trip on any cords.

Even in the darkness, though, I can make out the shape of the microphone, almost like it’s calling me. In the near distance, I hear Kasamatsu moving toward the guitar, picking it up. Then — the lights flood over us.

I have to force myself not to blink. To look at the crowd and grin, because this is what I’m here for.

Waving my hand in the air, I shout into the mic, “Hello, everyone! Welcome to class 2-A! I’m Nakahara Susumu, and today I’d like to introduce you to a special guest, Kasamatsu Yukio of class 3-B and captain of Kaijou’s very own basketball team!”

Kasamatsu gives me a look that clearly asks if I’m crazy, but I just grin back at him, and at the roaring of the crowd (and his brothers’ screaming), I know I made the right decision. Even if he doesn’t know it, people like him. And he _does_ look good in that suit.

Kasamatsu strums the electric guitar beside me nervously, but it creates a nice sound that dissolves some of the tension. A rich chord that rings through the building and sets the atmosphere.

I glance at Kasamatsu, and he nods, ready.

He begins to play and my body starts swaying — a habit, an instinct built deep inside. My eyes are closed and I can feel the music infiltrating every part of me, flowing through my veins, and strengthening my muscles. It really is different, being on the stage.

I open my eyes, wave at the crowd once more, then I begin to sing.

* * *

It is better than I could’ve hoped for. Even though the song is upbeat and cheerful, I feel myself getting emotionally involved and charged in a different way.

When the song ends, the music and notes still vibrating through the room, I hold my breath before releasing it. Kasamatsu looks exhausted, but . . . energized as well. I suppose being on a stage does that to you. He feels my eyes on him and turns to face me, a questioning look on his face. I just shake my head, a smile on my face.

Then, before he can resist, I throw one arm around him, pulling him close — he still has his guitar strapped around him, and it digs into me, but I don’t care. With my other hand, I hold up the victory sign, and the crowd goes wild. I can almost feel the heat emanating from Kasamatsu’s body, but eventually, he relaxes, and he, too, holds his hand up with success.


	28. Eirin - Susumu

_Eirin_

* * *

“Sis! Hey, sis!”

I turn my head, startled at the voice, and see Masuhiro bowling toward me. Mom trails behind him, looking around at the stands filling the school entrance, a disinterested expression on her face. At the sight of me, her eyes narrow — and at Kise beside me, she stiffens and her eyebrows rise.

“We stopped by your classroom,” Masuhiro says, reaching me. He carries a piece of sugared candy in his hand and he waves it in my face. “But you weren’t there. You’re still wearing your costume, though. Nice. And the room looked nice. Wait. Who’s this?”

He seems to finally notice Kise. My cheeks flush, and I say, “T-this is Kise Ryouta. He’s . . . a friend.”

“Whoa, really?”

I want to whack Masuhiro on the head for the tone of surprise.

Mom appears by my side, a shrewd look on her face. “Kise  Ryouta? He looks familiar.”

“He was at the party, Mom,” I say. “You know, that really fancy one you dragged me to a while back?”

Her eyes widen in recognition. “Ah, I see.” A look of . . . something akin to approval, maybe . . . reaches her eyes, and I’m glad for it. She is probably thinking that if he was good enough to be at that party, then it’s all right for him to hang out with me.

And she can’t argue that his looks are anything less than the finest. Though his current bad boy appearance might not have the best impression on her.

Kise gives Mom a winning grin and she attempts a smile in return. “Nice to meet you, Ichikawa-san,” he says politely. “Like your daughter said, I’m Kise Ryouta. A friend of hers.” He casts the same blinding grin onto me. “I’ve had a great time hanging out with her.”

Both Mom and Masuhiro share equal looks of surprise and I am thinking about talking to them about that later. Kise just looks like he wants to laugh.

“Come on,” Masuhiro says to Mom. He looks impatient, and it’s obvious he’d much rather be walking around by himself, but she has the money bag, so he has no choice (if he wants to continue buying candy, that is). “I want to look at the other classes.”

“Well,” Mom says, glancing at him, already distracted from me. “I guess we will see you later, Eirin?”

“Sure,” I say. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course!” Masuhiro chirps, then he and Mom leave.

“Pleasant people,” Kise says.

“You think?”

“Mmm.” He turns his bright eyes onto me and says, “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t mind,” I say. “Anything you want to do.”

“That’s no fun, Ichikawa-san,” he complains. “I already took you somewhere. So you should choose next.”

“All right . . .” I think of Masuhiro’s candy and an idea pops into my head. “Let’s get something to eat. You always take me for ice cream, right? I think I saw someone selling some that way . . .”

He nods, grinning, and we set off. The crowds of people have thickened and it takes us several minutes to just cross the grounds of the school to find the ice cream stand I saw earlier. Halfway there, he slips his hand around mine, gripping me in place. At first, I am so shocked that I almost pull away, but he holds my hand too tight — even if I tried (and even if I wanted to), I wouldn’t be able to separate myself from him.

He keeps his hand around mine. Even when we find the ice cream place and order,  he holds onto me. It makes it a bit difficult to receive our ice cream, find a place to eat, and — well, the real problem. Eating the ice cream itself.

“Kise,” I say. “Maybe you should let go.”

I nod at the hand he’s gripping tight, but he shakes his head. “It’s not every day I can hold your hand,” he says, giving me a wry smile. “I want to hang on as long as I can.”

I feel my face flushing. “It’s going to be difficult to eat the ice cream, though. I might spill it all over myself.”

He shrugs, and then with his free hand, he sets down his own ice cream, and reaches over to mine. I shrink away, thinking he’s going to steal it. But with me holding it, he only takes the spoon, serves up a bite, and then points it at my mouth. “Open up.” There’s an undeniably mischievous look on his face.

But I do as he says. He feeds me that way until the ice cream is all gone. Neither of us speak a word. I feel like my grip on the ice cream cup gets tighter and tighter, but his hand doesn’t even shake.

“All right, your turn now,” he says, once mine is all gone.

He turns around and picks up his ice cream and offers it toward me, the spoon handle in my direction. I make a face, but I take the spoon and scoop up a hefty amount. He opens up his mouth expectantly, his eyes sparkling, and because I am irritated, I stuff the whole dollop of ice cream forward.

He chokes, nearly dropping his ice cream cup. “Agh! What are you trying to do, Ichikawa-san? Murder me?”

“Not quite.”

He attempts a scowl, but it doesn’t work very well. A model’s face doesn’t look good with a glare, after all. (Or with a smeer of strawberry cream on his cheek.)

He waves the ice cream cup in my face. “You better do it properly now,” he says. “I really would like to finish this before it melts.”

I tug at his hand against mine. “If you just let go, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

In response, he squeezes tighter, and my heartbeat speeds up. “Don’t wanna,” he proclaims, sounding like a child. “Besides, I spoon-fed you. The least you could do is return the favor.”

“Please don’t say ‘spoon-fed.’ It makes me sound like a kid.”

“We _are_ kids, you know. You should remember that.”

I give him a noncommittal shrug, then dig the spoon into his ice cream again. This time, he waits to open his mouth until he’s sure I won’t pull the same stunt as last time. I have no intention of doing that, though. Because when he opens his mouth, he also closes his eyes, and I can see everything about him — I can stare at him without him staring back, without his eyes looking at me with such intensity. 

I can’t help but focus in on his lips. Especially since I’m, you know, _feeding_ him. Ugh, that sounds so weird. Isn’t this a thing that mothers to with their children? Or . . . couples? I don’t really like the thought of either option, but I have to admit, that being able to . . . uh . . . spoon-feed (for lack of a better word) him certainly has some of its pros.

For example, I get to come to the realization that he really does have nice eyelashes. And that I’d like to rub my fingers against the strands of his hair. Or that his lips really are . . .

I’m not going to go there, after all.

His eyes flutter open after a moment. I say, “There’s only a little left. I think you can eat that by yourself. Or just throw it away if you don’t want it.”

“No fun, Ichikawa-san.”

But he finally lets go of my hand — it suddenly feels numb and cold and empty without his around it.

Instead of eating the rest, though, he takes the spoon, scrapes up the rest of the ice cream, and then he shoves it into my mouth — just as I’d been about to ask him what he was doing.

“Payback,” he says, grinning.

I just swallow, staring at him wide-eyed, too shocked to say anything. Because, even if it’s a small inconsequential detail, I can’t get over the fact that I just ate from the same spoon he did.

* * *

_Susumu_

* * *

The third show comes to an end with a satisfying bang.

“You both did great!” Fujimori is all grins toward us, and she even gives Kasamatsu a longer-than-normal glance. I pretend not to notice.

“Thanks,” I say.

Kasamatsu nods beside me, but I can tell he’s feeling uncomfortable by the attention — especially as more students, mostly girls, are coming up toward us to compliment us on our performance. Glancing at him, I grab his hand, and we wind our way out of the claustrophobic classroom, and into the hallways. For once, he doesn’t protest.

The day is nearly over. It’s been long, but more fulfilling than I could’ve imagined. I never thought I’d get to perform with Kasamatsu in a way like this, so I guess you could say I’m pretty content.

“Thanks for that,” Kasamatsu says when we reach a less populated place. His cheeks are still red. “I —”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” I say, dropping my fingers from his.

His eyes widen marginally, but then he just nods. Because I think he understands. Somehow, through all of our late afternoon practices, basketball exchanges, and quiet walks homes . . . a subtle understanding between us has arisen. Something that doesn’t have to be expressed through words.

“Yukio-chan-senpai? Is that you?”

I turn around, and am surprised to see Ichikawa Eirin . . . with Kise Ryouta.

“Eirin.” Kasamatsu sounds surprised as well. “Kise. What are you two doing here?”

“We do go to school here,” Ichikawa points out.

Kise lets out a laugh, and I notice the small distance between him and her. She catches my eye, a curious look in her face. I wonder if she is thinking of something about Kasamatsu and I, just like I am thinking about her relationship with Kise.

“I heard you were in a show, Yukio-chan-senpai,” Ichikawa says. “How’d that go? I didn’t even know you could perform.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kasamatsu grumbles, but I catch onto the nickname, and kind of like the sound of it. I wonder what he would do if I used it.

“I asked him to perform with me,” I say. “It was kind of an emergency. And because Kasamatsu-senpai is the nice senpai he is, he readily agreed to help.”

“That’s right,” Kise adds in. “Senpai is always willing to lend a hand. I wish I could’ve caught one of your shows, Nakahara-senpai! I bet it was great. Both of you performing must’ve been great.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving at hand. “We have a few tomorrow you can come to.”

“Great. What do you say, Ichikawa-san?” He nods at the girl beside him and she glares at him and elbows him back. I almost laugh at their relationship.

“Kise,” Kasamatsu cuts in. “It’s getting late. Have you helped your class clean up yet?”

“Not yet, Senpai,” Kise says. “I guess . . .  Ichikawa-san, are you going back to your class?”

“Yes,” she says shortly. “I’m not going to do your chores, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t saying anything of the sort.”

“You didn’t _say_ it.”

They begin to leave, bickering as they go, and I just smile.

“Nakahara-san.” Kasamatsu turns to me, still taking command. “I’ll need to go back to my class to help clean up as well and get prepared for tomorrow as much as I can. I assume you have something to do?”

I nod. “I’ll need to change out of my costume, and I can see if Fujimori-san needs any help.”

“Right. It’s too dark to go home by yourself, though. So I’ll walk you back. Do you want to meet up in an hour at the school entrance?”

I can hardly contain the bubble of excitement rising inside of me. “Sure. That sounds great.”

He nods absentmindedly, then waves a hand before leaving. I watch his back all the way until he disappears. He has gotten so much more confident around me since when we first started spending time together. Sometimes, I forget the way he used to act, always blushing and tripping over himself. I like both sides of him; neither is better than the other. I simply find it intriguing that he contains such opposite parts . . . such a wonderful contradiction . . . inside of him.

The next hour seems to crawl by. I am too excited by the prospect of walking home with Kasamatsu, especially being wound up by our performance together, to fully concentrate on cleaning. The energy of the music is still humming within me, begging to be released in words or action.

When I’m finally done with my cleaning, I race out of the classroom and toward the school entrance. He is already waiting for me, and when I skid to a halt beside him, breathing hard, he doesn’t say a word. Only lets me catch my breath before beginning our walk home.

But I can’t let us rest in silence anymore.

“Say, Kasamatsu-senpai . . .”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. I know he hears me, though, because he cocks his head toward me. Then, “Yes?”

“I . . . I just want to . . . thank you. Of course. I mean, what you did today was amazing. Playing with me. It was flawless, really. Kasamatsu-senpai . . .”

We pass under a lamplight. In the pale beam, I see his steel gray eyes fix onto me. He says, “It’s okay. You can say what you really want to. I don’t mind.”

I blink. I must be an open book; or maybe he just knows me too well now . . . well, of course he does. After all, if I can understand him so well, why wouldn’t the opposite be true?

“It’s not anything big,” I whisper. “I just wanted to . . . if you’d allow me to . . .”

His brow wrinkles and I think I sense him getting impatient. For some reason, this makes me happy — because he only gets impatient and irritated with people he’s comfortable with.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll just spit it out, okay?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and nods.

I say, “Yukio.”

He trips and nearly falls onto his face.

Apparently, I still have some effect on him.

His face is red when he regains his composure and turns to me. “I-idiot!” he says. “What’d you do that for?”

I might be a masochist, since a shot of pleasure runs through me at the fact that he called me an idiot.

“I wanted to call you by your first name,” I say, blinking innocently at him.

“But you didn’t — you didn’t —”

He continues blustering, and I enjoy the fact that I can still catch him off-guard yet he’s also comfortable enough with me to speak his mind.

“Yukio,” I say, my voice serious, “it’s not that big of a deal. Ichikawa-san calls you by your first name, doesn’t she? And you call her Eirin. What’s the difference?”

“We’re — we’re —”

I grin at his inability to answer my question. Finally, after several moments of struggling with himself, I loop my arm through his, and say, “C’mon. It’s getting late, right? You’re the one who said it wasn’t safe to walk at night.”

“You —”

I just laugh, and tug him along. He doesn’t resist, even despite his protests, and somehow, I count that as progress.


	29. Eirin

_Part 3_

* * *

 

_Chapter 29: Eirin_

* * *

“Hey, sis.”

Masuhiro’s voice is quiet. I stretch in my chair, having been bent over homework for hours, and turn to look at him. “Yeah? You need something?”

He blinks at me owlishly. “No, not really,” he says. “I was just thinking . . . wondering . . .”

At this point of time, I’d usually get impatient. But it’s nearly impossible to get angry with Masuhiro, because he’s just so innocent, even with all his smarts. “Yeah?” I prompt him.

“It’s just that I haven’t really seen you look happy in a long time,” he says. “But when we were preparing for the festival, there was a shine in your eyes. And you looked like you were really into it . . . like you really wanted to do it. I was wondering . . . is it because of him?”

“Him?” I ask blankly.

“The boy you were hanging out with. Kise Ryouta. You know, he’s a model? And a basketball player?”

Oh, dear. Masuhiro’s already done research. He must think this is serious.

“You’ve got it wrong,” I say, holding up my hands. “Kise’s not . . . he’s just . . . we’re just . . .”

Masuhiro frowns. “If you’re not dating, then you must be really good friends.”

My heart pounds. Friends? Kise as my friend? It’s true that I’ve started hanging out with him a lot and that he doesn’t annoy me as much as before. And while one would usually say that’s what makes a “friendship,” it never actually crossed my mind that we’d gone from acquaintances to . . . friends. I never even really thought about what we are.

Maybe because it’s comfortable. Being with him.

But . . . friends?

I haven’t had one of those since . . .

_Yeah, and look at how well that turned out._

I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them, Masuhiro is still looking at me, a strange expression on his face. “Why do you think that?” I say, slightly breathless.

He suddenly smiles, a light in his eyes. “No reason, but I’m glad that you’ve found him. Or that he’s found you. It’s nice to see you passionate about something again. Ever since Dad, you’ve been so quiet. I’ve missed you.”

There’s an ache in my heart. Because of the strained relationship I share with my mother, and the way she treasures Masuhiro, I’ve never been particularly close to my younger brother. However, perhaps since we are siblings, he and I share some sort of connection, one that doesn’t usually have to be spoken aloud. “I’m sorry,” I say, my mouth dry. “I shouldn’t have —”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I understand. It’s all good now, though, isn’t it? Because things are changing.”

I swallow. I really don’t deserve such a nice little brother. “Thanks, Masuhiro,” I whisper, and he just smiles again before leaving.

* * *

Screaming. Bright lights. My arm stretches out desperately to try and reach him — but I’m too late, and then I see red.

I wake up hot, my breathing fast and uneven. The night is dark, cold against my sweaty skin. I sit up and smooth the sheets, attempting to regain control of my thoughts. The nightmares have been more persistent recently. Soon, maybe I will not be sleeping at all.

The light of my phone shines onto my face as I check the time. It’s past midnight — one forty-seven to be precise.

If I called him now, I’d surely be waking him up.

But, my mind rationalizes, it would only be payback.

And . . . if I don’t . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to sleep at all. And then I’ll be tired for classes tomorrow. And Mom definitely won’t want me to sleep during school.

All the excuses run through my head, but I am not blind to the single truth: I just want to hear his voice.

And . . . don’t “really good friends” rely on each other?

So, before I can hesitate any further, I dial Kise Ryouta’s phone number.

I count three rings before he picks up. “H-hello?”

I want to laugh at the amount of sleepiness in his voice. “It’s me,” I say.

“I-Ichikawa-san?” He yawns.

“Did you even check the caller ID?”

“It’s, like, five in the morning!”

“Not even close.”

“Oh, really?” he grumbles. “Whatever time it is, then, why are you calling me? I mean, not that I mind . . . it’s just unusual.”

I swallow. It is unusual. I’ve never called him. Or really reached out for him or anything of that sort.

“Ichikawa-san? You there?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s . . . nothing, really. I just . . .”

My cheeks flame as I think of my true motive. There is no way I’m telling him that.

He is waiting for an answer, but I switch the subject. “I’m sorry for calling you so late. Especially when we have school tomorrow. I’ll just go, then —”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You must’ve called me for a reason,” he says. “And even if you don’t want to share it with me, it’s okay that you woke me up. I don’t mind.”

I feel my grip on the phone tightening then relaxing. “Th . . . thank you.”

“No problem. What do you want to talk about? The success of the festival? I can’t believe it’s over! Man, that was fun. I can’t wait till next year’s. And the year after that!” Even though I’ve just woken him, he’s already gaining energy. Must be nice.

I snort. “Aren’t you getting a bit overexcited? This was just our first year.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. It was just our first year, and yet it was so awesome!”

“I suppose so . . .”

“Come on. Show some more enthusiasm, Ichikawa-san.”

“Sorry. I’ll try better next time.”

He sighs. “Yes, I’m sure you will.”

I almost feel a pang of guilt. I know he is just joking, but . . . I’m not sure if I was. Sometimes he is right about me; I am hardly a fun person to be around. I don’t take chances or risks, and I can’t even understand my own feelings.

So why does he insist on spending so much time around me?

I hardly want to believe it’s for _that_ reason.

I know I should ask, so that I am not wandering around in this tunnel of tumbling and confusing feelings. But I can’t bring myself to speak the words. Because if it’s not what I think it is — or if it is — then maybe I don’t want to hear his answer.

More than anything, I know that I don’t want to lose him.


	30. Susumu

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kasamatsu grumbles beside me.

“Don’t be like that, Yukio,” I chide him, bumping my shoulder into his. “It will be fun.”

At the use of his name, his cheeks go pink, and he turns his face away. I’ve figured out that saying his name is an easy way to seize victory against him. Though I just like the sound of it, too, so I probably use it more than necessary; I wonder if he’s irritated by the fact. He never says anything against it, though.

He and I are walking from our apartment to meet Kise and Ichikawa-san at a local park. I suggested the outing, and Kise immediately agreed, saying he’d invite Ichikawa. I’ve brought my camera along, and the day seems to be trying its best to be perfect for my photography: a cloudy but bright sky and an almost nonexistent breeze.

“I get enough of Kise at practice,” Kasamatsu complains. “I mean, I guess he’s gotten a bit better, thanks to Eirin, but —”

I stop and whirl around to face him, shoving my lens near his face. “Wait, what’d you say? ‘Thanks to Eirin’?”

His eyes widen slightly, taking on a shifty look.

“Did you put her up to something?” I ask him. “Is she spending time with Kise-kun for a reason?”

“Ehh . . . it’s not like that. I just suggested . . . that since she and him were in the same year . . . that maybe . . . she could, I don’t know . . . I mean, she’s a girl, after all . . .”

I barely resist laughing. “You know, Yukio, not every guy is like you, and caves into every girl’s request.”

“I — I don’t —”

“But I have to say, your foresight on this matter was excellent. It looks like Kise-kun is quite smitten.”

Kasamatsu looks gobsmacked. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh my goodness, you haven’t noticed? He can’t keep his eyes off of Ichikawa-san!”

“R-really?”

Poor Kasamatsu. No wonder he has such trouble with the girls.

“N-Nakahara-san, are you —?”

“You can call me Susumu,” I say cheerfully, and he chokes on his words. I’ve told him this before many times, but he’s mainly ignored me. “What were you saying?”

“I was . . .” He coughs. “I was asking how you knew. I mean, th-that —”

“How I know that Kise-kun likes Ichikawa-san?” His face purples at my outspoken words. “Well, see, Yukio. I already mentioned that Kise-kun can’t keep his eyes off of her. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s always hanging around her. And have you noticed the _way_ he looks at her? It’s intense.”

“But I don’t think . . .”

“You don’t think what?”

“Eirin doesn’t really do well with that sort of thing,” he says, still uncomfortable.

I switch my camera from one hand to the other. “Well, personally, I think the feelings are mutual. Who knows what’ll happen next, though? Maybe they’ll be in a relationship by next week.”

He blanches, and I laugh.

I leave Kasamatsu to his thoughts for the next few minutes until we reach the park. Kise and Ichikawa are already waiting for us, and upon seeing us, Kise stands up from the bench he’d been sitting on, and starts waving.

“Kasamatsu-senpai! Nakahara-senpai!” he says, a grin on his face.

“Hey!” I reply, waving back. Kasamatsu lets out a sigh beside me, like he’s gearing himself up for a long afternoon.

“Nakahara-senpai.” Ichikawa nods at me.

“No need for such formalities,” I tell her. “You can call me Susumu. I told the same to Yukio, but he won’t listen.”

She blinks. “Yukio?” She sends a puzzled look toward Kasamatsu, obviously wondering why I’m calling him by his first name (and why he’s allowing me to). “A-all right, then. You can call me . . . by my first name as well, then.” She looks hesitant to give me permission, like she has not done it very often.

“Eirin, then.” I grin. “I love the sound of it.”

Kise cocks his head, and I think I sense a thread of displeasure running through him. So far, he’s basically the only one left out of the “first-name basis” thing. Well, I mean, Kasamatsu’s not calling me by my first name, but that’s only out of stubbornness. And I suppose Eirin isn’t calling Kise by _his_ first name . . . but I highly doubt he’d mind. (You know, I think I’ve figured out how Kasamatsu and Eirin became friends in the first place.) 

I blow past Kasamatsu and Kise, and link arms with Eirin. She jumps, surprised by the contact. I pump my hand in the air. “Let’s get this thing started!”

She gives me wide eyes. “What is this ‘thing’? Kise just invited me without telling me anything.”

I hold up the camera that’s hanging in my hand. “It’s a nice day out. We should commemorate it.”

“I feel like we’ve already done this before,” Kasamatsu mutters.

“And the park’s a great backdrop,” I add. “We can just walk around, enjoying the nature, right? I bet we could go get some snacks later, too. ”

Eirin is giving me a look that clearly states that she thinks I’m crazy, but I don’t mind. Kise, on the other hand, looks like he’s entirely committed.

“Oh, I forgot!” I exclaim. “Yukio, you should’ve brought your guitar. Do you sing at all, Eirin? Play any instruments? What about you, Kise-kun?”

“I love karaoke!” Kise answers enthusiastically. He and I all stare at Eirin for her answer. She flushes.

“I . . . I don’t really do anything,” she says. “I mean, I’ve taken some piano classes because my mom wanted me to, but it never really caught on.”

“That’s so cool anyway,” I say. “I always wanted to play an instrument, but whenever I try and sing along with it, I can’t keep a melody straight in my head.”

“Well, at least you can sing,” she says.

“I’m sure you can sing, too,” Kise says to her. “You probably have a great voice.”

I give Kasamatsu a pointed look. Evidence, see? He doesn’t look me straight in the eyes.

I begin to tug Eirin away, and Kise and Kasamatsu trail behind us. Their conversation almost immediately turns to basketball — figures. Meanwhile, I ask Eirin about Kasamatsu and she decides to share some interesting stories that I file away for later. I have no direction as we talk, and let my feet take me wherever they want. The path in the park meanders along the edge of a copse of trees, and I watch the spots of sunlight filter through the leaves onto the ground.

“Wait, wait,” I say, holding my hand out in front of Eirin, pausing a particularly embarrassing story of Kasamatsu. “Stop here.” I unfold my arm from hers, and hold up my camera. “Make a pose!”

“What, me?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Her gaze flicks to Kise who grins and gives her a thumbs-up. She’s caught. Crossing her arms awkwardly over her chest, she leans against a tree and stares at me. It’s almost intimidating, but still, I like the shot. It’s very different from Nyoko’s sweet shots.

I smile at her, and show her the picture. She stares at it for a few moments before turning away, giving me no thoughts. Strange girl. I let her walk forward ahead of me and we continue down the path, until I find my next backdrop.

“Oh, Kise, c’mere.”

I suppose I should choose Kise for all of my shots, because he immediately jumps to where I point him, and does exactly what I say. I mean, he does have practice. And he seems to enjoy it, giving me wide smiles and always being polite, like I’m an official photographer. (You’d think he’d have enough of this sort of thing at work, but being such the attention sap he is, he never seems to tire of it.)

“This is fun,” he says after I finish the picture. “You’re really good at this, Nakahara-senpai. I guess the time with Abe-san is paying off, right?”

I nod, adjusting the cord of my camera that’s hanging around my neck. “Yep. He’s a great photographer, even if he’s a bit disorganized.”

Kise snorts. “A bit?”

“Are you talking about the guy you work for?” Kasamatsu says, glancing between Kise and me, a crease between his forehead.

“Yep. He’s a real handful, Abe-san. You met him that one day, right?”

“Yeah . . .”

Kise laughs. “He leaves quite an impression, doesn’t he?”

Yes, he does. Recently, Abe-san has been asking — quite indiscreetly, I might add —about the relationship between Kasamatsu and me. Every time I inform him we’re just friends, his face falls, as if his favorite soap opera show has just been cancelled. (I have to admit, though, my heart squeezes painfully every time I say the words, too. Kasamatsu, you idiot.)

The path breaks off into a crossroad, with the one on the left going to an open field, and the one on the right leading to more trees, a deep shaded area. Right between the split is a small flattish rock.

“Ooh, this is great, Yukio! Stand right over there.”

“N-no way! I’m not taking any more pictures.”

“You’re not the one taking the pictures, Yukio,” I remind him, holding up my camera.

He shoots me a glare. “Stop saying my name like that.”

I notice he said “like that,” not just “stop saying my name.” I wonder if there is really a difference, or if I’m looking too much into it?

“Fine,” I say. “Eirin, how are you with taking pictures?”

“W-what?” She gives me her wide-eyed stare, but takes the camera from me.

“You don’t need to do anything special,” I assure her. “Just press the button when you’re ready.”

And with that, I bounce over to Kasamatsu’s side, and twine my fingers through his, pulling him to where I’d like our picture taken.

“What are you doing, Nakahara-san?” he hisses at me.

I notice that he isn’t trying to pull his hand away. Other than his verbal protest, his body is following me.

I jump onto the small rock before spinning around to face him. I place my hands on his shoulders and bring him closer to me. He is usually a bit taller than me, but since I have the added height of the rock, his forehand bumps into my chest. I can feel the heat of his cheeks.

“N-Nakahara-san!”

I grin down at him. “Yukio.”

Then I lean down, just enough so that are faces are close — our cheeks almost touching — and say, “All right, Eirin! Click away!”

“U-um, okay.” I can hear the caution in her voice (but seriously, unless she drops the camera, she can’t go wrong with the picture — even if it’s a bit blurry, I’ll be okay with it). Kise is snorting behind her, and I hear Kasamatsu huff, clearly displeased at being laughed at.

There’s a flash and then Eirin says, “I think I got it.”

“Great!” I make to jump off the rock, but my shoe catches on a crevice I hadn’t seen. My hands windmill around me as I lose my balance, but then Kasamatsu’s arm winds around my waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me up, and places me on the ground.

“Idiot,” he says. “Don’t be so reckless next time.”

I almost feel like I should salute as I apologize. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

He turns his head. “I know. Silly. Just don’t do it again.”

My mouth feels dry. “Right. Of course. I won’t. Yukio.”

“You didn’t have to say my name there.”

I cock my head. “But I wanted to.”

When he turns his gaze back to me, his eyes are round, and I don’t think he quite understands what I said.

But he nods. He accepts it, and for right now, that’s good enough for me.


End file.
